PART II

Quartet for Voice, Harp, Piano Forte, and Violin, Miss STEPHENS, Mr. LABARRE, Master LISZT, and Mr. MORI _Moscheles and Mayseder_

Aria, Miss FANNY AYTON, "Una voce poco fa" _Rossini_

Solo, Guitar, Mr. HUERTA _Huerta_

Duet, Miss Stephens and Mr. BRAHAM.

Song, Miss LOVE, "Had I a heart."

Fantasia, Flute, Master MINASI _Master Minasi_

Song, Miss GRANT, "The Nightingale" _Crivelli_

Brilliant Variations on "Rule Britannia," Master LISZT _Master Liszt_

Leader, MR. MORI Conductor, Mr. Schuncke

THE CONCERT WILL COMMENCE AT HALF-PAST ONE O'CLOCK PRECISELY

Tickets, Half-a-Guinea each, to be had of Mr. LISZT, 46, Great Marlborough Street, and at all the principal Music Shops.

"Thirteen years elapsed before Liszt again favoured us with his presence. He had in the meantime passed from boyhood to manhood, from having been a prodigy to becoming a mature artist. The year was 1840--an important one, as we shall presently see. He appeared, for the first time, at the Philharmonic Concert of May 11, 1840, which was conducted by Sir Henry Bishop. Liszt played his own version of Weber's Concertstück in which, according to a contemporary account, 'passages were doubled, tripled, inverted, and _transmogrified_ in all sorts of ways.' Be this as it may, the Philharmonic Directors showed their appreciation of his performance by a presentation, an account of which appeared in a snappy and short-lived paper called the _Musical Journal_. Here is the extract:

"'Liszt has been presented by the Philharmonic Society with an elegant silver breakfast service, for doing that which would cause every young student to receive a severe reprimand--viz., thumping and partially destroying two very fine pianofortes. The Society has given this to Mr. Liszt as a _compliment_ for performing at two of its concerts _gratuitously_! Whenever did they present an Englishman with a _silver breakfast service_ for gratuitous performances?'

"The foregoing is written in the strain which characterised the attitude of a section of the musical press towards the great pianist. His use of the word 'Recitals' appears to have been as a red rag to those roaring bulls. The familiar term owes its origin to Liszt's performances. The late Willert Beale records that his father, Frederick Beale, invented the designation, and that it was much discussed before being finally adopted. The advertisement reads thus:

"'LISZT'S PIANOFORTE RECITALS

"'M. Liszt will give at Two o'clock on Tuesday morning, June 9, 1840, RECITALS on the PIANOFORTE of the following works:--No. 1. Scherzo and Finale from Beethoven's Pastorale Symphony. No. 2. Serenade, by Schubert. No. 3. Ave Maria, by Schubert. No. 4. Hexameron. No. 5. Neapolitan Tarentelles. No. 6. Grand Galop Chromatique. Tickets 10s. 6d. each; reserved seats, near the Pianoforte, 21s.'

"The 'Recitals'--the plural form of the term will be noticed--took place at the Hanover Square Rooms, and the piece entitled Hexameron (a set of variations on the grand march in I Puritani) was the composition of the following sextet of pianists: Thalberg, Chopin, Herz, Czerny, Pixis, and Liszt, not exactly 'a _singular_ production,' as the _Musical World_ remarked, but 'an uncommon one.' In connection with the 'Recitals,' Mr. Salaman may be quoted:

"'I did not hear Liszt again until his visit to London in 1840, when he puzzled the musical public by announcing "Pianoforte Recitals." This now commonly accepted term had never previously been used, and people asked, "What does he mean? How can any one _recite_ upon the pianoforte?" At these recitals, Liszt, after performing a piece set down in his programme, would leave the platform, and, descending into the body of the room, where the benches were so arranged as to allow free locomotion, would move about among his auditors and converse with his friends, with the gracious condescension of a prince, until he felt disposed to return to the piano.'

"The _Musical World_ referred to the 'Recitals' as 'this curious exhibition'; that the performance was 'little short of a miracle'; and that the Hexameron contained 'some difficulties of inconceivable outrageousness.' Another specimen of critical insight may be quoted--it refers to Liszt's participation in a concert given by John Parry:

"'On being unanimously recalled, he tore the National Anthem to ribbons, and thereby fogged the glory he had just achieved. Let him eschew such hyper-erudite monstrosities--let him stick to the 'recital' of sane and sanative music, and he will attain a reputation above all contemporary musical _mono_-facturers--and what is more, deserve it.'

"In the autumn of the same year (1840), Liszt formed one of a concert-party, organised by Lavenu, in a tour in the south of England. The party included John Parry, the composer of Wanted, a Governess, and the comic man of the Lavenu troup. Like Mendelssohn, Liszt seems to have taken to the jocose Parry, and he quite entered into the fun of the fair. For instance, at Bath, 'in addition to the pieces announced in the bills, Liszt played an accompaniment to John Parry's Inchape Bell, sung by the author, in which he introduced an extemporaneous storm, which had a most terrific effect.' We can well believe it. This storm was not 'a local disturbance,' as meteorologists would say, but it followed the party wherever they went, and it was doubtless received with thunderous applause.

"In November, a second and more extended tour, also under Lavenu's auspices, was undertaken, and the journey embraced the great provincial towns of England, Ireland, and Scotland. The preliminary announcement was couched in terms more or less pungent:

"'Mr. Lavenu with his corps musicale will enter the _lists_ again on the 23d instant, when it is to be hoped the _list_less provinces will _list_en with more attention than on his last experiment, or he will have en_list_ed his talented _list_ to very little purpose.'

"Liszt again appeared in London in 1841, and took the town by storm. Musical critics of the present day may be glad to enlarge their vocabulary from the following notice, which appeared in the columns of the _Musical World_ of sixty years ago:

"'M. Liszt's Recitals.--We walk through this world in the midst of so many wonders, that our senses become indifferent to the most amazing things: light and life, the ocean, the forest, the voice and flight of the pigmy lark, are unheeded commonplaces; and it is only when some comet, some giant, some tiger-tamer, some new Niagara, some winged being (mental or bodily, and unclassed in the science of ornithology) appears, that our obdurate faculties are roused into the consciousness that miracles do exist. Of the miracle genus is M. Liszt, the Polyphemus of the pianoforte--the Aurora Borealis of musical effulgence--the Niagara of thundering harmonies! His rapidity of execution, his power, his delicacy, his Briareus-handed chords, and the extraordinary volume of sound he wrests from the instrument, are each and all philosophies in their way that might well puzzle all but a philosopher to unriddle and explain.'

"Shortly before the 'recitals' above referred to, Liszt was thrown out of a carriage, and the accident resulted in a sprained wrist. At the performance, he apologised in French to the audience 'for his inability to play all the pieces advertised.'

"It is strange, but true, that no less than _forty-five_ years had come and gone before Liszt again set foot on Albion's shores. In the year 1886, aged seventy-five, he came again, and charmed everybody with the geniality of his presence.

"It was at the invitation of the late Mr. Henry Littleton (then head of the firm of Novello & Co.) that Liszt paid his last visit to England in 1886. The great pianist arrived on May 3, and remained under Mr. Littleton's hospitable roof at Westwood House, Sydenham, during the whole of his sojourn in this country. The events of those seventeen days were a series of triumphs to the grand old man of pianists. A command visit to Windsor Castle, when he played to Queen Victoria; dining with the Prince and Princess of Wales at Marlborough House; a visit to the Baroness Burdett Coutts; attending performances of his oratorio St. Elisabeth (conducted by Sir, then Mr. A. C. Mackenzie) at St. James's Hall and the Crystal Palace; concerts of Chev. Leonard E. Bach; the Royal Amateur Orchestral Society (when he was seated next to the king, then Prince of Wales); Monday Popular; pianoforte recitals by Mr. Frederic Lamond and Herr Stavenhagen; a visit to the Royal Academy of Music; in addition to receptions given by his devoted pupil and attached friend, the late Walter Bache at the Grosvenor Gallery, and the 'at homes' of his host and hostess at Westwood House.

"As an indication of the general interest aroused by the coming of Liszt, _Punch_ burst forth in the following strain:

"'A Brilliant Variation.--Mr. and Mrs. Littleton's reception of the Abbé Franz Liszt, at Westwood House, Saturday night last, was an event never to be forgotten. But it was not until all the Great 'uns had left the Littletons that the Greatest of them all sat at the piano in the midst of a cosy and select circle, and then, when _Mr. P-nch_ had put on his Liszt slippers ... but to say more were a breach of hospitality. Suffice it that on taking up his sharp-and-flat candlestick in a perfectly natural manner the Abbé, embracing _Mr. P-nch_, sobbed out, "This is the Abbé'ist evening I've ever had. Au plaisir!"--(_Extract from a Distinguished Guest's Diary. Privately communicated._)'

"Although he was in his seventy-sixth year at the time of this, his last sojourn in England, his pianoforte technic astonished those who were capable to form an opinion, and who were amazed that he did not 'smash the pianoforte, like his pupils!' He was immensely gratified at his visit, and in parting with Mr. Alfred and Mr. Augustus Littleton, at Calais, he said: 'If I should live two years longer I will certainly visit England again!' But alas! a little more than three months after he had said 'Good-bye' to these friends, Franz Liszt closed his long, eventful, and truly artistic career at Bayreuth on July 31, 1886. Professor Niecks said, 'Liszt has lived a noble life. Let us honour his memory.'"

EDVARD GRIEG

Grieg himself played his piano concerto at a Leipsic Gewandhaus concert in 1879, but it had already been heard in the same hall as early as February 22, 1872, when Miss Erika Lie played it, and the work was announced as new and "in manuscript." Before this time Grieg had shown the concerto to Liszt. The story is told in a letter of Grieg quoted in Henry T. Finck's biography of the composer:

"I had fortunately just received the manuscript of my pianoforte concerto from Leipsic, and took it with me. Besides myself there were present Winding, Sgambati, and a German Liszt-ite whose name I do not know, but who goes so far in the aping of his idol that he even wears the gown of an abbé; add to these a Chevalier de Concilium and some young ladies of the kind that would like to eat Liszt, skin, hair, and all, their adulation is simply comical.... Winding and I were very anxious to see if he would really play my concerto at sight. I, for my part, considered it impossible; not so Liszt. 'Will you play?' he asked, and I made haste to reply: 'No, I cannot' (you know I have never practised it). Then Liszt took the manuscript, went to the piano, and said to the assembled guests, with his characteristic smile, 'Very well, then, I will show you that I also cannot.' With that he began. I admit that he took the first part of the concerto too fast, and the beginning consequently sounded helter-skelter; but later on, when I had a chance to indicate the tempo, he played as only he can play. It is significant that he played the cadenza, the most difficult part, best of all. His demeanour is worth any price to see. Not content with playing, he at the same time converses and makes comments, addressing a bright remark now to one, now to another of the assembled guests, nodding significantly to the right or left, particularly when something pleases him. In the adagio, and still more in the finale, he reached a climax both as to his playing and the praise he had to bestow.

"A really divine episode I must not forget. Toward the end of the finale the second theme is, as you may remember, repeated in a mighty fortissimo. In the very last measures, when in the first triplets the first tone is changed in the orchestra from G sharp to G, while the pianoforte, in a mighty scale passage, rushes wildly through the whole reach of the keyboard, he suddenly stopped, rose up to his full height, left the piano, and, with big theatric strides and arms uplifted, walked across the large cloister hall, at the same time literally roaring the theme. When he got to the G in question, he stretched out his arms imperiously and exclaimed: 'G, G, not G sharp! Splendid! That is the real Swedish Banko!' to which he added very softly, as in a parenthesis: 'Smetana sent me a sample the other day.' He went back to the piano, repeated the whole strophe, and finished. In conclusion, he handed me the manuscript and said, in a peculiarly cordial tone: 'Fahren Sie fort; ich sage Ihnen, Sie haben das Zeug dazu, und--lassen Sie sich nicht abschrecken!' ('Keep steadily on; I tell you, you have the capability, and--do not let them intimidate you!')

"This final admonition was of tremendous importance to me; there was something in it that seemed to give it an air of sanctification. At times when disappointment and bitterness are in store for me, I shall recall his words, and the remembrance of that hour will have a wonderful power to uphold me in days of adversity."

RICHARD HOFFMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS

"I think it was in 1840 or 1841, in Manchester, that I first heard Liszt, then a young man of twenty-eight," wrote the late Richard Hoffman in _Scribner's Magazine_. "At that time he played only bravura piano compositions, such as the Hexameron and Hungarian March of Schubert, in C minor, arranged by himself. I recollect his curious appearance, his tall, lank figure, buttoned up in a frock coat, very much embroidered with braid, and his long, light hair brushed straight down below his collar. He was not at that time a general favourite in England, and I remember that on this occasion there was rather a poor house. A criticism of this concert which I have preserved from the _Manchester Morning Post_ will give an idea of his wonderful playing. After some introduction it goes on to say: 'He played with velocity and impetuosity indescribable, and yet with a facile grace and pliancy that made his efforts seem rather like the flight of thought than the result of mechanical exertion, thus investing his execution with a character more mental than physical, and making genius give elevation to art. One of the most electrifying points of his performance was the introduction of a sequence of thirds in scales, descending with unexampled rapidity; and another, the volume of tone which he rolled forth in the execution of a double shake. The rapture of the audience knew no bounds,' etc. I fancied I saw the piano shake and tremble under the force of his blows in the Hungarian March. I regret that I never had an opportunity of hearing him later in life, when I am sure I should have had more pleasure both in his playing and his programmes. He had appeared some sixteen years before in Manchester, in 1824, as a youthful phenomenon, in an engagement made for him by Mr. Andrew Ward, my father's partner. He stayed at his house while there, as the following letter specifies; both letters form part of a correspondence between Mr. Ward and the elder Liszt on this matter.

"'LONDON, _July 29, 1824_.

"'DEAR SIR: In answer to your letter of the 27th inst. I beg to inform you that I wish my Son to play as follows: viz:--At the first concert, a grand Concerto for the Piano Forte with orchestral accompaniment composed by Hummel, and the Fall of Paris also with grand orchestral accompaniment composed by Moscheles.

"'At the 2d Concert--Variations with orchestral accompaniments composed by Charles Czerni, and afterwards an Extempore Fantasia on a written Thema which Master Liszt will respectfully request any person of the Company to give him.

"'We intend to start to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock by the Telegraph Coach from the White Horse Fetter lane, and as we are entire strangers to Manchester it will be very agreeable to us if you will send some one to meet us.

"'M. Erard's pianoforte will be in your town on Sunday morning as I shall be glad for my son to play upon that instrument.

"'I remain, Dear Sir,

"'Yr. very humble Servant,

"'LISZT.'

"'15 GT. MARLBOROUGH STREET,

"'_July 22, 1824._

"'Mr. Liszt presents his compliments to Mr. Roe and begs to say, that the terms upon which he will take his son to Manchester to play at the concerts of the second and fourth of August next will be as follows:

"'Mr. Liszt is to receive one hundred pounds and be provided with board and lodgings in Mr. Ward's house during his stay in Manchester for his son and himself, and Mr. Liszt will pay the travelling expenses to and from Manchester.'"

HENRY REEVES

In Henry Reeves's biography I found this about Liszt:

"Liszt had already played a great fantasia of his own, and Beethoven's Twenty-seventh Sonata in the former part of the concert. After this latter piece he gasped with emotion as I took his hand and thanked him for the divine energy he had shed forth. At last I managed to pierce the crowd, and I sat in the orchestra before the Duchesse de Rauzan's box, talking to her Grace and Madame de Circourt, who was there. My chair was on the same board as Liszt's piano when the final piece began. It was a duet for two instruments, beginning with Mendelssohn's Chants sans Paroles and proceeding to a work of Liszt's. We had already passed that delicious chime of the Song Written in a Gondola, and the gay tendrils of sound in another lighter piece, which always reminded me of an Italian vine, when Mrs. Handley played it to us. As the closing strains began I saw Liszt's countenance assume that agony of expression, mingled with radiant smiles of joy, which I never saw in any other human face except in the paintings of our Saviour by some of the early masters; his hands rushed over the keys, the floor on which I sat shook like a wire, and the whole audience were wrapped in sound, when the hand and frame of the artist gave way. He fainted in the arms of the friend who was turning over for him, and we bore him out in a strong fit of hysterics. The effect of this scene was really dreadful. The whole room sat breathless with fear, till Hiller came forward and announced that Liszt was already restored to consciousness and was comparatively well again. As I handed Madame de Circourt to her carriage we both trembled like poplar leaves, and I tremble scarcely less as I write."

LISZT'S CONVERSION

"Have you read the story of Liszt's conversion as told by Emile Bergerat in Le Livre de Caliban?" asks Philip Hale. "I do not remember to have seen it in English, and in the dearth of musical news the story may amuse. I shall not attempt to translate it literally, or even English it with a watchful eye on Bergerat's individuality. This is a paraphrase, not even a pale, literal translation of a brilliant original.

THE CONVERSION OF THE ABBÉ LISZT

"And so he will not play any more.

"Well, a pianist cannot keep on playing forever, and if Liszt had not promised to stop, the Pope would never have pardoned him--no, never. For the pianist turned priest because he was remorseful, horror-stricken at the thought of his abuse of the piano. His conversion is a matter of history. When one takes Orders, he swears to renounce Satan, his gauds and his works--that is to say, the piano.

"If he should play he'd be a renegade. Of course he longs to touch the keys. His daddy-long-legs-fingers itch, and he doesn't know what to do with them. But an apostate? Perish the thought! And apostasy grins at him; lurks in the metronome with its flicflac. Here's what I call a dramatic situation.

"Wretched Abbé! Never more will you smash white or black keys; never more will you dance on the angry pedals; O never, never more! Do you not hear the croaking of Poe's raven? Never again, O Father, will you tire the rosewood! Good-bye to tumbling scales and pyrotechnical arpeggios! Thus must you do penance. The president of the Immortals does not love piano playing. He scowls on pianists. He condemns them to thump throughout eternity. In Dante's hell there is a dumb piano, and Lucifer sees to it that they practice without ceasing.

"I am naturally tender-hearted, but I approve of this eternal punishment.

"Yes, Father Liszt, because the piano is not in the scheme of Nature. Even in Society the fewer the pianos the greater the merriment. If the piano were really a thing in Nature the good Lord would have taken at least ten minutes of the seven days and designed a model. But the piano never occurred to Him. Now, as everything, existing or to exist, was foreseen by him, and a part of Him (that is, according to the dogma), I am inclined to think He was afraid of the piano. He recoiled at the responsibility of creating it. And yet the machine exists!

"A syllogism leads us to declare that the piano is an after-thought. Of whom? Why, Satan of course. A grim joke of Satan. The piano is the enemy of man. Liszt finally discovered this, though he was just a little late. So he will only go to Purgatory, and in Purgatory there are no dumb pianos. But there are organs without pipes, without bellows, and many have pulled the stops in vain for centuries. I earnestly beseech you, my Father, to accumulate indulgences.

"They tell many stories about the conversions of Abbé Liszt, and how he found out that the piano is the enemy of humanity. Lo, here is the truth. He once gave a concert in a town where there were many dogs. He was then exceedingly absent-minded; he mistook the date and appeared the night before. Extraordinary to relate, there was no one in the hall, although the concert was announced for the next day! Liszt sat down nevertheless, and played for his own amusement. The effect was prodigious, as George Sand told us in her Lettres d'un Voyageur. The dogs ran to the noise--curs, water spaniels, poodles, greyhounds--all the dogs, including the yellow outcast. They all howled fearfully, and they would fain have fleshed their teeth in the pianist.

"Then Liszt reasoned--in his fashion: 'Since the dog is the friend of man, if he abominates the piano it is because his instinct tells him, "the piano is my friend's enemy!"' Professor Jevons might not have approved the conclusion, but Liszt saw no flaw.

"And then a sculptor wished to make a statue of Liszt. He hewed him as he sat before a piano, and he included the instrument. It was naturally a grand piano, one lent by Madame Erard expressly for the occasion. Liszt went to the studio, saw the clay, and turned green.

"'Where did you get such a ghastly idea?' he asked, and his voice trembled. 'You represent me as playing a music coffin.'

"'What's that? I have copied nature. Is not the shape exact?'

"'Horribly,' said Liszt. 'And thus, thus shall I appear to posterity! I shall be seen hanging by my nails to this funereal box, a virtuoso, ferocious, with dishevelled hair, raising the dead and digging a grave at the same time! The idea puts me in a cold sweat!'

"The sculptor smiled. 'I can substitute an upright.'

"'Then I should seem to be scratching a mummy case. They would take me for an Egyptologist at his sacrilegious work.'

"Homeward he fled. In his own room he arranged the mirrors so that he could see himself in all positions while he was plying his hellish trade. And then salvation came to him. He saw that the machine was demoniacal, that it recalled nothing in the fauna or the flora of the good Lord, that the sculptor was right, that the piano had the appearance of the sure box, in which occurs vague metempsychosis, that is if the box only had a jaw. He was horror-stricken at his past life. Frightened, his soul tormented by doubt, it seemed to him that from under the eighty-five molars, which he snatched hurriedly from the shrieking piano, Astaroth darted his tongue. He ran to Rome and threw himself at the Pope's feet, imploring exorcism.

"The confession lasted three days and three nights. The possessed could not get to an end. There were crimes which the Pope himself knew nothing about, which he had never heard mentioned, professional crimes, crimes peculiar to pianists, horrid crimes in keys natural and unnatural! This confession is still celebrated.

"'Holy Father,' cried the wretch, 'you do not, you cannot know everything! There are pianists and pianists. You believe that the piano, as diabolical as it is, whether it be a Pleyel or an Erard, cannot give out more noise than it holds. You believe that he who makes it exhibit in full its terrible proportions is the strongest, and that piano playing has human limitations. Alas, alas! You say to yourself when in an apartment house of seven stories the seven tenants give notice simultaneously to the trembling landlord, it makes no difference whether the cause of the desperate flight is named Saint-Saëns, Pugno or Chabrier. The tenants run because the piano gives forth all that is inside of it, and the inanimate is acutely animate. How Your Holiness is deceived. There's a still lower depth!'

"Liszt smote his breast thrice, and continued: 'I know a man (or is it indeed a human being?) who never quitted the sonorous coffin until the entire street in which he raged had emigrated. And yet he had only ten fingers on his hands, as you and I, and never did he use his toes. This monster, Holy Father, is at your feet!'

"Pius IX shivered with fright. 'Go on, my son, the mercy of God is unbounded.'

"Then Liszt accused himself:

"Of having by Sabbatic concerts driven the half of civilised Europe mad, while the other half returned to Chopin and Thalberg.

"('There's Rubinstein,' said Pius, and he smiled.) Liszt pretended not to hear him, and he continued:

"'My Father, I have encouraged the trade in shrill mahogany, noisy rosewood and shrieking ebony in the five parts of the acoustic world, so that at this very moment there is not a single ajoupa or a single thatched hut among savages that is without a piano. Even wild men are beginning to manufacture pianos, and they give them as wedding gifts to their daughters.'

"('Just as it is in Europe,' said the Pope.)

"'And also,' added Liszt, 'with instructions how to use them. Mea culpa!'

"Then he confessed that apes unable to scramble through a scale were rare in virgin forests; that travellers told of elephants who played with their trunks the Carnival of Venice variations; and it was he, Franz Liszt, that had served them as a model. The plague of universal "pianisme" had spread from pole to pole. Mea culpa! Mea culpa!

"Overcome with shame, he wished to finish his confession at the piano. But Pius IX had anticipated him. There was no piano in the Vatican. In all Christendom, the Pope was the only one without a boxed harp.

"'Ah! you are indeed the Pope!' cried Liszt as he knelt before him.

"A little after this Liszt took Orders. They that speak without intelligence started the rumour that it was at La Trappe. But at La Trappe there is a piano, and Liszt swore to the Holy Father that he would never touch one.

"To-day the world breathes freely. The monster has been disarmed and exorcised.

"Now when Liszt sees a piano he approaches it with curiosity and asks the use of that singular article of furniture.

"It is true there's one in his room, but he keeps his cassocks in it."

VII

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF LISZT

I

WEIMAR

After rambling over Weimar and burrowing in the Liszt museum, one feels tempted to pronounce Liszt the happiest of composers, as Yeats calls William Morris the happiest poet. A career without parallel, a victorious general at the head of his ivory army; a lodestone for men and women; a poet, diplomat, ecclesiastic, man of the world, with the sunny nature of a child, loved by all, envious of no one--surely the fates forgot to spin evil threads at the cradle of Franz Liszt. And he was not a happy man for all that. He, too, like Friedrich Nietzsche had dæmonic fantasy; but for him it was a gift, for the other a curse. Music is a liberation, and Nietzsche of all men would have benefited by its healing powers.

In Weimar Liszt walked and talked, smoked strong cigars, played, prayed--for he never missed early mass--and composed. His old housekeeper, Frau Pauline Apel, still a hale woman, shows, with loving care, the memorials in the little museum on the first floor of the Wohnhaus, which stands in the gardens of the beautiful ducal park.

Here Goethe and Schiller once promenaded in a company that has become historic. And cannot Weimar lay claim to a Tannhäuser performance as early as 1849, the Lohengrin production in 1850, and the Flying Dutchman in 1853? What a collection of musical manuscripts, trophies, jewels, pictures, orders, letters--I saw one from Charles Baudelaire to Liszt--and testimonials from all over the globe, which accumulated during the career of this extraordinary man!

The Steinway grand pianoforte, once so dearly prized by the master, has been taken away to make room for the many cases containing precious gifts from sovereigns, the scores of the Christus, Faust Symphony, Orpheus, Hungaria, Berg Symphony, Totentanz, and Festklänge. But the old instrument upon which he played years ago still stands in one of the rooms. Marble casts of Liszt's, Beethoven's, and Chopin's hands are on view; also Liszt's hand firmly clasping the slender fingers of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein. Like Chopin, Liszt attracted princesses as sugar buzzing flies.

* * * * *

There is a new Weimar--not so wonderful as the two old Weimars--the Weimar of Anna Amalia and Karl August, of Goethe, Wieland, Herder, and Schiller, Johanna Schopenhauer and her sullen son Arthur, the pessimistic philosopher--and not the old Weimar of Franz Liszt and his brilliant cohort of disciples; nevertheless, a new Weimar, its intellectual rallying-point the home of Elisabeth Foerster-Nietzsche, the tiny and lovable sister of the great dead poet-philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche.

To drift into this delightful Thuringian town; to stop at some curious old inn with an eighteenth century name like the Hotel Zum Elephant; to walk slowly under the trees of the ducal park, catching on one side a glimpse of Goethe's garden house, on the other Liszt's summer home, where gathered the most renowned musicians of the globe--these and many other sights and reminiscences will interest the passionate pilgrim--interest and thrill. If he be bent upon exploring the past glories of the Goethe régime there are bountiful opportunities; the Goethe residence, the superb Goethe and Schiller archives, the ducal library, the garden house, the Belvidere--here we may retrace all the steps of that noble, calm Greek existence from robust young manhood to the very chamber wherein the octogenarian uttered his last cry of "More light!" a cry that not only symbolised his entire career, but has served since as a watchword for poetry, science, and philosophy.

If you are musical, is there not the venerable opera-house wherein more than a half century ago Lohengrin, thanks to the incredible friendship and labour of Franz Liszt, was first given a hearing? And this same opera-house--now no more--is a theatre that fairly exhales memories of historic performances and unique dramatic artists. Once Goethe resigned because against his earnest protest a performing dog was allowed to appear upon the classic boards which first saw the masterpieces of Goethe and Schiller.

But the new Weimar! During the last decade whether the spot has a renewed fascination for the artistic Germans or because of its increased commercial activities, Weimar has worn another and a brighter face. The young Grand Duke Ernst, while never displaying a marked preference for intellectual pursuits, is a liberal ruler, as befits his blood.

Great impetus has been given to manufacturing interests, and the city is near enough to Berlin to benefit by both its distance and proximity. Naturally, the older and conservative inhabitants are horrified by the swift invasion of unsightly chimneys, of country disappearing before the steady encroachment of railroads, mills, foundries, and other unpicturesque but very useful buildings. And the country about Weimar is famed for its picturesque quality--Jena, Tiefurt, Upper Weimar, Erfurt, museums, castles, monuments, belvideres, wayside inns, wonderful roads overhung by great aged trees. But other days, other ways.

Weimar has awakened and is no longer proud to figure merely as a museum of antiquities. With this material growth there has arisen a fresh movement in the stagnant waters of poetic and artistic memories--new ideas, new faces, new paths, new names. It is a useless, though not altogether an unpleasant theme, to speculate upon the different Weimar we would behold if Richard Wagner's original plan had been put into execution as to the location of his theatre. Most certainly Bayreuth would be a much duller town than it is to-day--and that is saying much. But emburgessed prejudices were too much for Wagner, and a stuffy Bavarian village won his preference, thereby becoming historical.

However, Weimar is not abashed or cast down. A cluster of history-making names are hers, and who knows, fifty years hence she may be proud to recall the days when one Richard Strauss was her local Kapellmeister and that within her municipal precincts died a great poetic soul, the optimistic philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche.

Now, Weimar is the residence and the resort of a brilliant group of poets, dramatists, novelists, musicians, painters, sculptors, and actors. Professor Hans Olde, who presides over the imposing art galleries and art school, has gathered about him an enthusiastic host of young painters and art students.

There have been recently two notable exhibitions, respectively devoted to the works of the sculptor-painter, Max Klinger, and the French sculptor, Auguste Rodin. Nor is the new artistic leaven confined to the plastic arts. Ernst von Wildenbruch, a world-known novelist and dramatist (since dead); Baron Detlev von Liliencron, one of Germany's most gifted lyric poets; Richard Dehmel, a poet of the revolutionary order, whose work favourably compares with the productions of the Parisian symbolists; Paul Ernst, poet; Johannes Schlaf, who a few years ago with Arno Holz blazoned the way in Berlin for Gerhart Hauptmann and the young realists--Schlaf is the author of several powerful novels and plays; Count Kessler, a cultured and ardent patron of the fine arts and literature, and Professor van de Velde, whose influence on architecture and the industrial arts has been great, and the American painter Gari Melchers, are all in the Weimar circle.

In the summer Conrad Ansorge, a man not unknown to the New York musical public, gathers around him in pious imitation of his former master, Liszt, a class of ambitious pianists. A former resident of New York, Max Vogrich, pianist and composer, has taken up his residence at Weimar. In its opera-house, which boasts an excellent company of singers, actors, and a good orchestra, the première of Vogrich's opera Buddha occurred in 1903. Gordon Craig, the son of Ellen Terry, often visits the city, where his scheme for the technical reform of the stage--lighting, scenery, costumes, and colours--was eagerly appreciated, as it was in Berlin, by Otto Brahm, director of the Lessing Theatre. Mr. Craig is looked upon as an advanced spirit in Germany. I wish I could praise without critical reservation the two new statues of Shakespeare and Liszt which stand in the park; but neither one is of consummate workmanship or conception.

When I received the amiable "command" of Elisabeth Foerster-Nietzsche, bidding me call at a fixed hour on a certain day, I was quite conscious of the honour; only the true believers set foot within that artistic and altogether charming Mecca at the top of the Luisenstrasse.

The lofty and richly decorated room where repose the precious mementos of the dead thinker is a singularly attractive one--it is a true abode of culture. Here Nietzsche died in 1900; here he was wheeled out upon the adjacent balcony, from which he had a surprising view of the hilly and delectable countryside.

His sister and devoted biographer is a comely little lady, vivacious, intellectual, bright of cheek and eye, a creature of fire and enthusiasm, more Gallic than German. I could well believe in the legend of the Polish Nietzskys, from whom the philosopher claimed descent, after listening to her spirited discussion of matters that pertained to her dead brother. His memory with her is an abidingly beautiful one. She says "my poor brother" with the accents of one speaking of the vanished gods.

His sister showed me all her treasures--many manuscripts of early and still unpublished studies; his original music, for he composed much during his intimacy with Richard Wagner; the grand pianoforte with which he soothed his tortured nerves; the stately bust executed by Max Klinger; the painful portrait etched by Hans Olde, and many other souvenirs.

Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche, who once lived in South America--she speaks English, French, and Italian fluently--assured me that she sincerely regretted the premature publication in English of The Case of the Wagner. This book, so terribly personal, is a record of the disenchanting experiences of a shattered friendship.

Madame Foerster spoke most feelingly of Cosima Wagner and deplored the rupture of their intimate relations. "A marvellous woman! a fascinating woman!" she said several times. What with her correspondence in every land, the publication of the bulky biography and the constant editing of unpublished essays, letters and memorabilia, this rare sister of a great man is, so it seems to me, overtaxing her energies. The Nietzsche bibliography has assumed formidable proportions, yet she is conversant with all of it. A second Henrietta Renan, I thought, as I took a regretful leave of this very remarkable woman, not daring to ask her when Nietzsche's unpublished autobiography, Ecce Homo, would be given to the world. (This was written in 1904; Ecce Homo has appeared in the meantime.)

Later, down in the low-ceilinged café of the Hotel zum Elephant, I overheard a group of citizens, officers, merchants--all cronies--discussing Weimar. Nietzsche's name was mentioned, and one knight of this round table--a gigantic officer with a button head--contemptuously exclaimed:--"Nietzsche Rauch!" (smoke). Yes, but what a world-compelling vapour is his that now winds in fantastic spirals over the romantic hills and valleys of the new Weimar and thence about the entire civilised globe! Friedrich Nietzsche, because of his fiery poetic spirit and ecstatic pantheism, might be called the Percy Bysshe Shelley of philosophers.

II

BUDAPEST

My first evening in Budapest was a cascade of surprises. The ride down from Vienna is not cheery until the cathedral and palace of the primate is reached, at Gran, a superb edifice, challenging the valley of the Danube. Interminable prairies, recalling the traits of our Western country, swam around the busy little train until this residence of the spiritual lord of Hungary was passed. After that the scenery as far as Orsova, Belgrade, and the Iron Gates is legendary in its beauty.

To hear the real Hungarian gipsy on his own heath has been long my ambition. In New York he is often a domesticated fowl, with aliens in his company. But in Budapest! My hopes were high. The combination of that peppery food, paprika gulyas, was also an item not to be overlooked. I soon found an establishment where the music is the best in Hungary, the cooking of the hottest. After the usual distracting tuning the band splashed into a fierce prelude.

Fancy coming thousands of miles to hear the original of all the cakewalks and eat a preparation that might have been turned out from a Mexican restaurant! It was too much. It took exactly four Czardas and the Rakoczy march to convince me that I was not dreaming of Manhattan Beach.

But this particular band was excellent. Finding that some of the listeners only wished for gipsy music, the leader played the most frantically bacchanalian in his repertory. Not more than eight men made up the ensemble! And such an ensemble. It seemed to be the ideal definition of anarchy--unity in variety. Not even a Richard Strauss score gives the idea of vertical and horizontal music--heard at every point of the compass, issuing from the bowels of the earth, pouring down upon one's head like a Tyrolean thunderstorm. Every voice was independent, and syncopated as were the rhythms. There was no raggedness in attack or cessation.

Like a streak of jagged, blistering lightning, a tone would dart from the double bass to the very scroll of the fiddles. In mad pursuit, over a country black as Servian politics went the cymbalom, closely followed by two clarinets--in B and E flat. The treble pipe was played by a jeweller in disguise--he must have been a jeweller, so fond was he of ornamentation and cataracts of pearly tones. He made a trelliswork behind which he attacked his foes, the string players. In the midst of all this melodic chaos the leader, cradling his fiddle like something alive, swayed as sways a tall tree in the gale. Then he left the podium and hat in hand collected white pieces and _kronen_. It was disenchanting.

The tone of the band was more resilient, more brilliant than the bands we hear in America. And there were more heart, fire, swing and dash in their playing. The sapping melancholy of the Lassan and the diabolic vigour of the Friska are things that I shall never forget. These gipsies have an instinctive sense of tempo. Their allegretto is a genuine allegretto. They play rag-time music with true rhythmic appreciation for the reason that its metrical structure is grateful to them.

In Paris the cakewalk is a thing of misunderstood, misapplied accents. The Budapest version of the Rakoczy march is a revelation. No wonder Berlioz borrowed it. The tempo is a wild quickstep; there is no majestic breadth, so suggestive of military pomp or the grandeur of a warlike race. Instead, the music defiled by in crazy squads, men breathlessly clinging to the saddles of their maddened steeds; above them hung the haze of battle, and the hoarse shouting of the warriors was heard. Five minutes more of this excitement and heart disease might have supervened. Five minutes later I saw the band grinning over their tips, drinking and looking absolutely incapable of ever playing such stirring and hyperbolical music.

After these winged enchantments I was glad enough to wander next morning in the Hungarian Museum, following the history of this proud and glorious nation, in its armour, its weapons, its trophies of war and its banners captured from the Saracen. Such mementos re-create a race. In the picture gallery, a modest one, there are some interesting Munkaczys and several Makarts; also many specimens of Hungarian art by Kovacs, Zichy (a member of a noble and talented family), Székely, and Michael Zichy's cartoon illustrations to Mádach's The Tragedy of Mankind.

Munkaczy's portrait of Franz Liszt is muddy and bituminous. Two original aquarelles by Doré were presented by Liszt. I was surprised to find in the modern Saal the Sphynx of Franz Stuck, a sensational and gruesome canvas, which made a stir at the time of first hanging in the Munich Secession exhibition. Budapest purchased it; also a very characteristic Segantini, an excellent Otto Sinding, and Hans Makart's Dejanira. A beautiful marble of Rodin's marks the progressive taste of this artistic capital.

It would seem that even for a municipality of New York's magnitude the erection of such a Hall of Justice and such a Parliament building would be a tax beyond its purse. Budapest is not a rich city, but these two public buildings, veritable palaces, gorgeously decorated, proclaim her as a highly civilised centre. The opera-house, which seats only 1,100, is the most perfectly appointed in the world; its stage apparatus is better than Bayreuth's. And the natural position of the place is unique. From the ramparts of the royal palace in Buda--old Ofen--your eye, promise-crammed, sweeps a series of fascinating façades, churches, palaces, generous embankments, while between its walls the Danube flows torrentially down to the mysterious lands where murder is admired and thrones are playthings.

In the Liszt museum is the old, bucolic pianino upon which his childish hands first rested at Raiding (Dobrjàn), his birthplace. His baton; the cast of his hand and of Chopin's and the famous piano of Beethoven, at which most of the immortal sonatas were composed, and upon which Liszt Ferencz played for the great composer shortly before his death in 1827. The little piano has no string, but the Beethoven--a Broadwood & Sons, Golden Square, London, so the fall-board reads--is full of jangling wires, the keys black with age. Liszt presented it to his countrymen--he greatly loved Budapest and taught several months every winter at the Academy of Music in the spacious Andrassy strasse.

A harp, said to have been the instrument most affected by Marie Antoinette, did not give me the thrill historic which all right-minded Yankees should experience in strange lands. I would rather see a real live tornado in Kansas than shake hands with the ghost of Napoleon.

III

ROME

The pianoforte virtuoso, Richard Burmeister, and one of Liszt's genuine "pet" pupils, advised me to look at Liszt's hotel in the Vicolo Alibert, Rome. It is still there, an old-fashioned place, Hotel Alibert, up an alley-like street off the Via Babuino, near the Piazza del Popolo. But it is shorn of its interest for melomaniacs, as the view commanding the Pincio no longer exists. One night sufficed me, though the manager smilingly assured me that he could show the room wherein Liszt slept and studied. A big warehouse blocks the outlook on the Pincio; indeed the part of the hotel Liszt inhabited no longer stands. But at Tivoli, at the Villa d'Este, with its glorious vistas of the Campagna and Rome, there surely would be memories of the master. The Sunday I took the steam-tramway was a threatening one; before Bagni was reached a solid sheet of water poured from an implacable leaden sky. It was not a cheerful prospect for a Liszt-hunter. Arrived at Tivoli, I waited in the Caffé d'Italia hoping for better weather. An old grand pianoforte, the veriest rattletrap stood in the eating salle; but upon its keys had rested many times the magic-breeding fingers of Liszt. Often, with a band of students or with guests he would walk down from the villa and while waiting for their carriages he would jestingly sweep the keyboard. At the Villa d'Este itself the cypresses, cascades, terraces, and mysterious avenues of green were enveloped in a hopeless fog. It was the mistiest spot I ever visited. Heaven and earth, seemingly, met in fluid embrace to give me a watery welcome. Where was Liszt's abode is a Marianite convent. I was not permitted to visit his old room which is now the superior's. It was at the top of the old building, for wherever Liszt lived he enjoyed a vast landscape. I could discover but one person who remembered the Abbate; the conciêrge. And his memories were scanty. I wandered disconsolately through the rain, my mood splenetic. So much for fame. I bitterly reflected in the melancholy, weedy, moss-infested walks of the garden.

As I attempted to point out to our little party the particular window from which Liszt saw the miraculous Italian world, I stepped on a slimy green rock and stretched my length in the humid mud. There was a deep, a respectful silence as I was helped to my feet--the gravity of the surroundings, the solemnity of our recollections choked all levity; though I saw signs of impending apoplexy on several faces. To relieve the strain I sternly bade our guide retire to an adjacent bosky retreat and there roar to his heart's content. He did. So did we all. The spell broken we returned to the "Sirene" opposite the entrance to the famous Tivoli water-falls and there with Chianti and spaghetti tried to forget the morning's disappointments. But even there sadness was invoked by the sight of a plaster bust of Liszt lying forlorn in the wet grass. The head waiter tried to sell it for twenty liri; but it was too big to carry; besides its nose was missing. He said that the original was somewhere in Tivoli.

Sgambati in Rome keeps green the memory of the master in his annual recitals; but of the churchly compositions no one I encountered had ever heard. At Santa Francesca Romana, adjoining the Forum, Liszt once took up his abode; there I saw in the cloister an aged grand pianoforte upon which he had played in a concert given at the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore many years ago. About an hour from Rome is the Oratory of the Madonna del Rosario on Monte Mario. There Liszt lived and composed in 1863. But his sacred music is never sung in any of the churches; the noble Graner Mass is still unheard in Rome. Even the Holy Father refers to the dead Hungarian genius as, "il compositore Tedesco!" It was different in the days of Pius IX, when Liszt's music was favoured at the Vatican. Is it not related that Pio Nono bestowed upon the great pianist the honour of hearing his confession at the time he became an abbé? And did he not after four or five hours of worldly reminiscences, cry out despairingly to his celebrated penitent:

"Basta, Caro Liszt! Your memory is marvellous. Now go play the remainder of your sins upon the pianoforte." They say that Liszt's playing on that occasion was simply enchanting--and he did not cease until far into the night.

Liszt's various stopping-places in and around Rome were: Vicolo de Greci (No. 43), Hotel Alibert, Vicolo Alibert, opposite Via del Babuino; Villa d'Este with Cardinal Hohenlohe, also at the Vatican; in 1866 at Monte Mario, Kloster Madonna del Rosario, Kloster Santa Francesca Romana, the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein first resided in the Via del Babuino, later (1881) at the Hotel Malaro. Monsignor Kennedy of the American College shows the grand piano upon which Liszt once played there.

Perhaps Rome, at a superficial glance, still affects the American as it did Taine a half century ago, as a provincial city, sprawled to unnecessary lengths over its seven hills, and, despite the smartness of its new quarters, far from suggesting a Weltstadt, as does, for example, bustling, shining Berlin or mundane Paris. But not for her superb and imperial indifference are the seductive spells of operatic Venice or the romantic glamour of Florence. She can proudly say "La ville c'est moi!" She is not a city, but the city of cities, and it needs but twenty-four hours' submergence in her atmosphere to make one a slave at her eternal chariot wheels. The New York cockney, devoted to his cult of the modern--hotels, baths, cafés and luxurious theatres--soon wearies of Rome. He prefers Paris or Naples. Hasn't some one said, "See Naples and die--of its smells?" As an inexperienced traveller I know of no city on the globe where you formulate an expression of like or dislike so quickly. You are Rome's foe or friend within five minutes after you leave its dingy railway station. And it is hardly necessary to add that its newer quarters, pretentious, cold, hard and showy, are quite negligible. One does not go to Rome to seek the glazed comforts of Brooklyn.

The usual manner of approaching the Holy Father is to go around to the American Embassy and harry the good-tempered secretary into a promise of an invitation card, that is, if you are not acquainted in clerical circles. I was not long in Rome before I discovered that both Mgr. Kennedy and Mgr. Merry del Val were at Frascati enjoying a hard-earned vacation. So I dismissed the ghost of the idea and pursued my pagan worship at the Museo Vaticano. Then the heavy hoofs of three hundred pilgrims invaded the peace of the quiet Hotel Fischer up in the Via Sallustiana. They had come from Cologne and the vicinity of the Upper Rhine, bearing Peter's pence, wearing queer clothes and good-natured smiles. They tramped the streets and churches of Rome, did these commonplace, pious folk. They burrowed in the Catacombs and ate their meals, men and women alike, with such a hearty gnashing of teeth, such a rude appetite, that one envied their vitality, their faith, their wholesale air of having accomplished the conquest of Rome.

Their schedule, evidently prepared with great forethought and one that went absolutely to pieces when put to the test of practical operation, was wrangled over at each meal, where the Teutonic clans foregathered in full force. The third day I heard of a projected audience at the Vatican. These people had come to Rome to see the Pope. Big-boned and giantlike Monsignor Pick visited the hotel daily, and once after I saw him in conference with Signor Fischer I asked him if it were possible----

"Of course," responded the wily Fischer, "anything is possible in Rome." Wear evening dress? Nonsense! That was in the more exacting days of Leo XIII. The present Pope is a democrat. He hates vain show. Perhaps he has absorbed some of the Anglo-Saxon antipathy to seeing evening dress on a male during daylight. But the ladies wear veils. All the morning of October 5 the hotel was full of eager Italians selling veils to the German ladies.

Carriages blocked the streets and almost stretched four square around the Palazzo Margherita. There was noise. There were explosive sounds when bargains were driven. Then, after the vendors of saints' pictures, crosses, rosary beads--chiefly gentlemen of Oriental persuasion, comical as it may seem--we drove off in high feather nearly four hundred strong. I had secured from Monsignor Pick through the offices of my amiable host a parti-hued badge with a cross and the motto, "Coeln--Rom., 1905," which, interpreted, meant "Cologne--Rome." I felt like singing "Nach Rom," after the fashion of the Wagnerians in act II of Tannhäuser, but contented myself with abusing my coachman for his slow driving. It was all as exciting as a first night at the opera.

The rendezvous was the Campo Santo dei Tedeschi, which, with its adjoining church of Santa Maria della Pieta, was donated to the Germans by Pius VI as a burying-ground. There I met my companions of the dining-room, and after a stern-looking German priest with the bearing of an officer interrogated me I was permitted to join the pilgrims. What at first had been a thing of no value was now become a matter of life and death.

After standing above the dust and buried bones of illustrious and forgotten Germans we went into the church and were cooled by an address in German from a worthy cleric whose name I cannot recall. I remember that he told us that we were to meet the Vicar of Christ, a man like ourselves. He emphasised strangely, so it appeared to me, the humanity of the great prelate before whom we were bidden that gloomy autumnal afternoon. And then, after intoning a Te Deum, we filed out in pairs, first the women, then the men, along the naked stones until we reached the end of the Via delle Fundamenta. The pilgrims wore their everyday clothes. One even saw the short cloak and the green jägerhut. We left our umbrellas at a garderobe; its business that day was a thriving one. We mounted innumerable staircases. We entered the Sala Regia, our destination--I had hoped for the more noble and spacious Sala Ducale.

Three o'clock was the hour set for the audience; but His Holiness was closeted with a French ecclesiastical eminence and there was a delay of nearly an hour. We spent it in staring at the sacred and profane frescoes of Daniele da Volterra, Vasari, Salviati and Zucchari staring at each other. The women, despite their Italian veils, looked hopelessly Teutonic, the men clumsy and ill at ease. There were uncouth and guttural noises. Conversation proceeded amain. Some boasted of being heavily laden with rosaries and crucifixes, for all desired the blessing of the Holy Father. One man, a young German-American priest from the Middle West, almost staggered beneath a load of pious emblems. The guilty feelings which had assailed me as I passed the watchful gaze of the Swiss Guards began to wear off. The Sala Regia bore an unfamiliar aspect, though I had been haunting it and the adjacent Sistine Chapel daily for the previous month. An aura, coming I knew not whence, surrounded us. The awkward pilgrims, with their daily manners, almost faded away, and when at last a murmur went up, "The Holy Father! the Holy Father! He approaches!" a vast sigh of relief was exhaled. The tension had become unpleasant.

We were ranged on either side, the women to the right, the men to the left of the throne, which was an ordinary looking tribune. It must be confessed that later the fair sex were vigorously elbowed to the rear. In America the women would have been well to the front, but the dear old Fatherland indulges in no such new fangled ideas of sex equality. So the polite male pilgrims by superior strength usurped all the good places. A tall, handsome man in evening clothes--solitary in this respect, with the exception of the Pope's body suite--patrolled the floor, obsequiously followed by the Suiss in their hideous garb--a murrain on Michelangelo's taste if he designed such hideous uniforms! I fancied that he was no less than a prince of the royal blood, so masterly was his bearing. When I discovered that he was the Roman correspondent of a well-known North German gazette my respect for the newspaper man abroad was vastly increased. The power of the press----!

"His Holiness comes!" was announced, and this time it was not a false alarm. From a gallery facing the Sistine Chapel entered the inevitable Swiss Guards; followed the officers of the Papal household, grave and reverend seigniors; a knot of ecclesiastics, all wearing purple; Monsignor Pick, the Papal prothonotary and a man of might in business affairs; then a few stragglers--anonymous persons, stout, bald, officials--and finally Pope Pius X.

He was attired in pure white, even to the sash that compassed his plump little figure. A cross depended from his neck. He immediately and in the most matter of fact fashion held out his hand to be kissed. I noted the whiteness of the nervous hand tendered me, bearing the ring of Peter, a large, square emerald surrounded by diamonds. Though seventy, the Pope looks ten years younger. He is slightly under medium height. His hair is white, his complexion dark red, veined, and not very healthy. He seems to need fresh air and exercise; the great gardens of the Vatican are no compensation for this man of sorrows, homesick for the sultry lagoons and stretches of gleaming waters in his old diocese of Venice. If the human in him could call out it would voice Venice, not the Vatican. The flesh of his face is what the painters call "ecclesiastical flesh," large in grain. His nose broad, unaristocratic, his brows strong and harmonious. His eyes may be brown, but they seemed black and brilliant and piercing. He moved with silent alertness. An active, well-preserved man, though he achieved the Biblical three-score and ten in June, 1905. I noted, too, with satisfaction, the shapely ears, artistic ears, musical ears, their lobes freely detached. A certain resemblance to Pius IX there is; he is not so amiable as was that good-tempered Pope who was nicknamed by his intimate friend, the Abbé Liszt, _Pia Nina_, because of his musical proclivities. Altogether, I found another than the Pope I had expected. This, then, was that exile--an exile, yet in his native land; a prisoner in sight of the city of which he is the spiritual ruler; a prince over all principalities and dominions, yet withal a feeble old man, whose life might be imperilled if he ventured into the streets of Rome.

The Pope had now finished his circle of pilgrims and stood at the other end of the Sala. With him stood his chamberlains and ecclesiastics. Suddenly a voice from the balcony, which I saw for the first time, bade us come nearer. I was thunder-struck. This was back to the prose of life with a vengeance. We obeyed instructions. A narrow aisle was made, with the Pope in the middle perspective. Then the voice, which I discovered by this time issued from the mouth of a bearded person behind a huge, glittering camera, cried out in peremptory and true photographer style:----

"One, two, three! Thank your Holiness."

And so we were photographed. In the Vatican and photographed! Old Rome has her surprises for the patronising visitors from the New World. It was too business-like for me, and I would have gone away, but I couldn't, as the audience had only begun. The Pope went to his throne and received the heads of the pilgrims. A certain presumptuous American told him that the church musical revolution was not much appreciated in America. He also asked, rash person that he was, why an example was not set at St. Peter's itself, where the previous Sunday he had heard, and to his horror, a florid mass by Milozzi, as florid and operatic as any he had been forced to endure in New York before the new order of things. A discreet poke in the ribs enlightened him to the fact that at a general audience such questions are not in good taste.

The Pope spoke a few words in a ringing barytone voice. He said that he loved Germany, loved its Emperor; that every morning his second prayer was for Germany--his first, was it for the hundredth wandering sheep of the flock, France? That he did not explain. He blessed us, and his singing voice proved singularly rich, resonant and pure in intonation for an old man. Decidedly Pius X is musical; he plays the pianoforte it is said, with taste. The pilgrims thundered the Te Deum a second time, with such pious fervour that the venerable walls of the Sala Regia shook with their lung vibrations. Then the Papal suite followed the sacred figure out of the chamber and the buzzing began. The women wanted to know--and indignant were their inflections--why a certain lady attired in scarlet, hat and all, was permitted within the sacred precincts. The men hurried, jostling each other, for their precious umbrellas. The umbrella in Germany is the symbol of the mediæval sword. We broke ranks and tumbled into the now sunny daylight, many going on the wings of thirst to the Piazza Santi Apostoli, which, notwithstanding its venerable name, has amber medicine for parched German gullets.

Pius X is a democratic man. He may be seen by the faithful at any time. He has organised a number of athletic clubs for young Romans, taking a keen interest in their doings. He is an impulsive man and has many enemies in his own household. He has expressed his intention of ridding Rome of its superfluous monks, those unattached ones who make life a burden by their importunings and beggaries in Rome.

His personal energy was expressed while I was in Rome by his very spirited rebuke to some members of the athletic clubs at an audience in the Vatican. There was some disorder while the Pontiff spoke. He fixed a noisy group with an angry glance:--"Those who do not wish to hear me--well, there is the open door!"

Another incident, and one I neglected to relate in its proper place;--As Pius proceeded along the line of kneeling figures during the German audience he encountered a little, jolly-looking priest, evidently known to him. A smile, benign, witty, delicately humourous, appeared on his lips. For a moment he seemed more Celt than Latin. There was no hint of the sardonic smile which is said to have crossed the faces of Roman augurs. It was merely a friendly recognition tempered by humility, as if he meant to ask:--"Why do you need my blessing, friend?" And it was the most human smile that I would imagine worn by a Pope. It told me more of his character than even did his meek and resigned pose when the official photographer of the Vatican called out his sonorous "Una, due, tre!"

VIII

LISZT PUPILS AND LISZTIANA

Here is a list of the pupils who studied with Liszt. There are doubtless a thousand more who claim to have been under his tutelage but as he is dead he can't call them liars. All who played in Weimar were not genuine pupils. This collection of names has been gleaned from various sources. It is by no means infallible. Many of them are dead. No attempt is made to denote their nationalities, only sex and alphabetical order is employed. _Place aux dames._

Vilma Barga Abranyi, Anderwood, Baronne Angwez, Julia Banholzer, Bartlett, Stefanie Busch, Alice Bechtel, Berger, Robertine Bersen-Gothenberg, Ida Bloch, Charlotte Blume-Ahrens, Anna Bock, Bödinghausen, Valerie Boissier-Gasparin, Marianne Brandt, Antonie Bregenzer, Marie Breidenstein, Elisabeth Brendel-Trautmann, Ingeborg Bronsart-Stark, Emma Brückmann, Burmester, Louisa Cognetti, Descy, Wilhelmine Döring, Victoria Drewing, Pauline Endry, Pauline Fichtner Erdmannsdörfer, Hermine Esinger, Anna Mehlig-Falk, Amy Fay, Anna Fiebinger, Fischer, Margarethe Fokke, Stefanie Forster, Hermine Frank, H. von Friedländer, Vilma von Friedenlieb, Stephanie von Fryderyey, Hirschfeld-Gärtner, Anna Gáll, Cecilia Gaul, Kathi Gaul, Ida Seelmuyden, Geyser, Gilbreth, Goodwin, Gower, Amalie Greipel-Golz, Margit Groschmied, Emma Grossfurth, Ilona Grunn, Emma Guttmann von Hadeln, Adele Hastings, Piroska Hary, Howard, Heidenreich, Nadine von Helbig (née Princesse Schakovskoy), Gertrud Herzer, Hippins, Hodoly, Höltze, Aline Hundt, Marie Trautmann Jaell, Olga Janina (Marquise Cezano), Jeapp, Jeppe, Julia Jerusalem, Clothilde Jeschke, Helene Kähler, Anna Kastner, Clemence Kautz-Kreutzer, Kettwitz, Johanna Klinkerfuss-Schulz, Emma Koch, Roza Koderle, Manda Von Kontsky, Kovnatzka, Emestine Kramer, Klara Krause, Julia Rivé King, Louisè Krausz, Josefine Krautwald, Isabella Kulissay, Natalie Kupisch, Marie La Mara (Lipsius), Adèle Laprunarède (Duchesse de Fleury), Vicomtesse de La Rochefoucauld, Julie Laurier, Leu Ouscher, Elsa Levinson, Ottilie Lichterfeld, Hedwig von Liszt, Hermine Lüders, Ella Máday, Sarah Magnus-Heinze, Marie von Majewska-Sokal, Martini, Sofie Menter, Emilie Merian Genast, Emma Mettler, Olga de Meyendorff (née Princesse Gortschakoff), Miekleser, Von Milde-Agthe, Henrietta Mildner, Comtesse de Miramont, Ella Modritzky, Marie Mösner, De Montgolfier, Eugenie Müller-Katalin, Herminie de Musset, Ida Nagy, Gizella Neumann, Iren Nobel, Adele Aus der Ohe, Sophie Olsen, Paramanoff, Gizella Paszthony-Voigt de Leitersberg, Dory Petersen, Sophie Pflughaupt-Stehepin, Jessie Pinney-Baldwin, Marie Pleyel-Mock, Pohl-Eyth, Toni Raab, Lina Ramann, Kätchen von Ranuschewitsch, Laura Rappoldi-Kahrer, Duchesse de Rauzan, Ilonka von Ravacz, Gertrud Remmert, Martha Remmert, Auguste Rennenbaum, Klara Riess, Anna Rigo, Anna Rilke, Rosenstock, M. von Sabinin, Comtesse Carolyne Saint-Criq d'Artignan (Liszt's first love), Gräfin Sauerma, Louise Schärnack, Lina Scheuer, Lina Schmalhausen, Marie Schnobel, Agnes Schöler, Adelheid von Schorn, Anna Schuck, Elly Schulze, Irma Schwarz, Arma Senkrah (Harkness), Caroline Montigny-Remaury (Serres), Siegenfeld, Paula Söckeland, Ella Solomonson, Sothman, Elsa Sonntag, Spater, Anna Spiering, H. Stärk, Anna Stahr, Helene Stahr, Margarethe Stern-Herr, Neally Stevens, Von Stvicowich, Hilda Tegernström, Vera von Timanoff, Iwanka Valeska, Vial, Pauline Viardot-Garcia, Hortense Voigt, Pauline von Voros, Ida Volkmann, Josephine Ware, Rosa Wappenhaus, Ella Wassemer, Olga Wein-Vaszilievitz, Weishemer, Margarethe Wild, Etelka Willheim-Illoffsky, Winslow, Janka Wohl, Johanna Wenzel-Zarembska.

Among the men were: Cornel Abranyi, Leo d'Ageni, Eugen d'Albert, Isaac Albeniz, C. B. Alkan, Nikolaus Almasy, F. Altschul, Conrad Ansorge, Emil Bach, Walter Bache, Carl Baermann, Albert Morris Bagby, Josef Bahnert, Johann Butka, Antonio Bazzini, J. von Beliczay, Franz Bendel, Rudolf Bensey, Theodore Ritter, Wilhelm Berger, Arthur Bird, Adolf Blassmann, Bernhard Boekelmann, Alexander Borodin, Louis Brassin, Frederick Boscovitz, Franz Brendel, Emil Brodhag, Hans von Bronsart, Hans von Bülow, Buonamici, Burgmein (Ricordi), Richard Burmeister, Louis Coenen, Herman Cohen ("Puzzi"), Chop, Peter Cornelius, Bernhard Cossmann, Leopold Damrosch, William Dayas, Ludwig Dingeldey, D' Ma Sudda-Bey, Felix Draeseke, Von Dunkirky, Paul Eckhoff, Theodore Eisenhauer, Imre Elbert, Max Erdsmannsdörfer, Henri Falcke, August Fischer, C. Fischer, L. A. Fischer, Sandor Forray, Freymond, Arthur Friedheim, W. Fritze, Ferencz Gaal, Paul Geisler, Josef Gierl, Henri von Gobbi, August Göllerich, Karl Göpfurt, Edward Götze, Karl Götze, Adalbert von Goldschmidt, Bela Gosztonyi, A. W. Gottschlag, L. Grünberger, Guglielmi, Luigi Gulli, Guricks, Arthur Hahn, Ludwig Hartmann, Rudolf Hackert, Harry Hatch, J. Hatton, Hermann, Carl Hermann, Josef Huber, Augustus Hyllested, S. Jadassohn, Alfred Jaell, Josef Joachim, Rafael Joseffy, Ivanow-Ippolitoff, Aladar Jukasz, Louis Jungmann, Emerich Kastner, Keler, Berthold Kellermann, Baron Von Keudell, Wilhelm Kienzl, Edwin Klahre, Karl Klindworth, Julius Kniese, Louis Köhler, Martin Krause, Gustav Krausz, Bela Kristinkovics, Franz Kroll, Karl Von Lachmund, Alexander Lambert, Frederick Lamond, Siegfried Langaard, Eduard Lassen, W. Waugh Lauder, Georg Leitert, Graf de Leutze, Wilhelm Von Lenz, Otto Lessmann, Emil Liebling, Georg Liebling, Saul Liebling, Karlo Lippi, Louis Lönen, Joseph Lomba, Heinrich Lutter, Louis Mass, Gyula Major, Hugo Mansfeldt, L. Marek, William Mason, Edward MacDowell, Richard Metzdortf, Baron Meyendorff, Max Meyer, Meyer-Olbersleben, E. Von Michalowich, Mihlberg, F. Von Milde, Michael Moszonyi, Moriz Moszkowski, J. Vianna da Motta, Felix Mottl, Franz Müller, Müller-Hartung, Johann Müller, Paul Müller, Nikol Nelisoff, Otto Neitzel, Arthur Nikisch, Ludwig Nohl, John Orth, F. Pezzini, Robert Pflughaupt, Max Pinner, William Piutti, Richard Pohl, Karl Pohlig, Pollack, Heinrich Porges, Wilhem Posse, Silas G. Pratt, Dionys Prückner, Graf Pückler, Joachim Raff, S. Ratzenberger, Karoly Rausch, Alfred Reisenauer, Edward Remenyi, Alfonso Rendano, Julius Reulke, Edward Reuss, Hermann Richter, Julius Richter, Karl Riedel, F. W. Riesberg, Rimsky-Korsakoff, Karl Ritter, Hermann Ritter, Moriz Rosenthal, Bertrand Roth, Louis Rothfeld, Joseph Rubinstein, Nikolaus Rubinstein, Camille Saint-Saëns, Max van de Sandt, Emil Sauer, Xaver Scharwenka, Hermann Scholtz, Bruno Schrader, F. Schreiber, Karl Schroeder, Max Schuler, H. Schwarz, Max Seifriz, Alexander Seroff, Franz Servais, Giovanni Sgambati, William H. Sherwood, Rudolf Sieber, Alexander Siloti, Edmund Singer, Otto Singer, Antol Sipos, Friederich Smetana, Goswin Söckeland, Wilhelm Speidel, F. Spiro, F. Stade, L. Stark, Ludwig Stasny, Adolph Stange, Bernhard Stavenhagen, Eduard Stein, August Stradal, Frank Van der Stucken, Arpad Szendy, Ladislas Tarnowski, Karl Tausig, E. Telbicz, Otto Tiersch, Anton Urspruch, Baron Vegh, Rudolf Viole, Vital, Jean Voigt, Voss, Henry Waller, Felix Weingartner, Weissheimer, Westphalen, Joseph Wieniawsky, Alexander Winterberger, Theador de Witt, Peter Wolf, Jules Zarembsky, Van Zeyl, Geza Zichy (famous one-armed Hungarian pianist), Hermann Zopff, Johannes Zschocher, Stephen Thoman, Louis Messemaekers, Robert Freund. And how many more?

All the names above mentioned were not pianists. Some were composers, later celebrated, conductors, violinists--Joachim and Remenyi, and Van Der Stucken, for example--harpists, even musical critics who went to Liszt for musical advice, advice that he gave with a royal prodigality. He never received money for his lessons. "Am I a piano teacher?" he would thunder if a pupil came to him with faulty technic.

What became of Part Third of the Liszt Piano Method? It was spirited away and has never been heard of since. In his Franz Liszt in Weimar, the late A. W. Gottschalg discusses the mystery. A pupil, a woman, is said to have been the delinquent. The Method, as far as it goes is not a work of supreme importance. Liszt was not a pedagogue, and abhorred technical drudgery.

As to the legend of his numerous children, we can only repeat Mark Twain's witticism concerning a false report of his death--the report has been much exaggerated. At one time or another Alexander Winterberger, a pupil (since dead), the late Anton Seidl, Servais, Arthur Friedheim, and many others have been called "sons of Liszt." And I have heard of several ladies who--possibly thinking it might improve their technic--made the claim of paternity. At one time in Weimar, Friedheim smilingly assured me, there was a craze to be suspected an offspring of the Grand Old Man--who like Wotan had his Valkyrie brood. When Eugen d'Albert first played for Liszt he was saluted by him as the "Second Tausig." That settled his paternity. Immediately it was hinted that he greatly resembled Karl Tausig, and although his real father was a French dance composer--do you remember the Peri Valse?--everyone stuck to the Tausig legend. I wonder what the mothers of these young Lisztians thought of their sons' tact and delicacy?

Liszt denied that Thalberg was the natural son of Prince Dietrichstein of Vienna, as was commonly believed. To Göllerich he said that his early rival was the son of an Englishman. Richard Burmeister told me when Servais visited Weimar the Lisztian circle was agitated because of the remarkable resemblance the Belgian bore to the venerable Abbé. At the whist-table--the game was a favourite one with the Master--some tactless person bluntly put the question to Liszt as to the supposed relationship. He fell into a rage and growlingly answered: "Ich kenne seine Mutter nur durch Correspondenz, und so was kann man nicht durch Correspondenz abmachen." Then the game was resumed.

Liszt admired the brilliant talents of the young Nietzsche, but he distrusted his future. Nietzsche disliked the pianist and said of him in one of his aphorisms: "Liszt the first representative of all musicians, but no musician. He was the prince, not the statesman. The conglomerate of a hundred musicians' souls, but not enough of a personality to cast his own shadow upon them." In his Roving Expeditions of an Inopportune Philosopher, Nietzsche even condescends to a pun on Liszt as a piano teacher: "Liszt, or the school of running--after women" (Schule der Geläufigkeit).

TAUSIG

Over a quarter of a century has passed since the death of Karl Tausig, a time long enough to dim the glory of the mere virtuoso. Many are still living who have heard him play, and can recall the deep impressions which his performances made on his hearers. Whoever not only knew Karl Tausig at the piano, but had studied his genuinely artistic nature, still retains a living image of him. He stands before us in all his youth, for he died early, before he had reached the middle point of life; he counted thirty years at the time of his death, when his great heart, inspired with a love for all beauty, ceased to beat; when those hands, _Tes mains de bronze et des diamants_, as Liszt named them in a letter to his pupil and friend, grew stiff in death.

It was through many wanderings and perplexities that Karl Tausig rose to the height which he reached in the last years of his life. A friendless childhood was followed by a period of _Sturm und Drang_, till the dross had been purged away and the pure gold of his being displayed. The essence of his playing was warm objectivity; he let every masterpiece come before us in its own individuality; the most perfect virtuosity, his incomparable surmounting of all technical means of expression, was to him only the means, never the end. Paradoxical as it may appear, there never was, before or since, so great a virtuoso who was less a virtuoso. Hence the career of a virtuoso did not satisfy him; he strove for higher ends, and apart from his ceaseless culture of the intellect, his profound studies in all fields of science and the devotion which he gave to philosophy, mathematics, and the natural sciences, what he achieved in the field of music possesses a special interest, as he regarded it as merely a preparation for comprehensive creative activity. Some of these compositions are still found in the programmes of all celebrated pianists, while the arrangements that he made for pedagogic purposes occupy a prominent place in the courses of all conservatories.

Karl Tausig came to Berlin in the beginning of the sixties. Alois Tausig, his father, a distinguished piano teacher at Warsaw, who had directed the early education of the son, whom he survived by more than a decade, had already presented him to Liszt at Weimar. Liszt at once took the liveliest interest in the astonishing talents of the boy and made him a member of his household at Altenburg, at Weimar, where this prince in the realm of art kept his court with the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, surrounded by a train of young artists, to which Hans von Bülow, Karl Klindworth, Peter Cornelius (to name only a few) belonged. With all these Karl Tausig formed intimate friendships, especially with Cornelius, who was nearest to him in age. An active correspondence was carried on between them, even when their paths of life separated them. Tausig next went to Wagner at Zürich, and the meeting confirmed him in his enthusiasm for the master's creations and developed that combativeness for the works and artistic struggles of Wagner which resulted in the arrangement of orchestral concerts in Vienna exclusively for Wagner's compositions, a very hazardous venture at that period. He directed them in person, and gave all his savings and all his youthful power to them without gaining the success that was hoped for. The master himself, when he came to Vienna for the rehearsals of the first performances of Tristan und Isolde, had sad experiences; his young friend stood gallantly by his side, but the performance did not take place. Vienna was then a sterile soil for Wagner's works and designs. Tausig returned in anger to Berlin, where he quickly became an important figure and a life-giving centre of a circle of interesting men. He founded a conservatory that was sought by pupils from all over the world, and where teachers like Louis Ehlert and Adolf Jensen gave instruction. When Richard Wagner came to Berlin in 1870 with a project for erecting a theatre of his own for the performance of the Nibelungen Ring it was Tausig who took it up with ardent zeal, to which the master bore honourable testimony in his account of the performance.

In July, 1871, Tausig visited Liszt at Weimar and accompanied him to Leipsic, where Liszt's grand mass was performed in St. Thomas' Church by the Riedle Society. After the performance he fell sick. A cold, it was said, prostrated him. In truth he had the seeds of death in him, which Wagner, in his inscription for the tomb of his young friend, expressed by the words, "Ripe for death!" The Countess Krockow and Frau von Moukanoff, who on the report of his being attacked by typhus hastened to discharge the duties of a Samaritan by his sick-bed in the hospital, did all that careful nursing and devoted love could do, but in vain, and on July 17 Karl Tausig breathed his last.

His remains were carried from Leipsic to Berlin, and were interred in the new cemetery in the Belle Alliance Strasse. During the funeral ceremony a great storm burst forth, and the roll of the thunder mingled with the strains of the Funeral March from the Eroica which the Symphony Orchestra performed at his grave. Friends erected a simple memorial. An obelisk of rough-hewn syenite bears his portrait, modelled in relief by Gustav Blaesar. Unfortunately wind and weather in the course of years injured the marble of the relief, so that its destruction at an early period was probable, and the same friends substituted a bronze casting for the marble, which on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death was adorned with flowers by loving hands.

Karl Tausig represents the very opposite pole in "pianism" to Thalberg; he was fire and flame incarnate, he united all the digital excellencies of the aristocratic Thalberg, including his supreme and classic calm to a temperament that, like a comet, traversed artistic Europe and fired it with enthusiastic ideals. If Karl Tausig had only possessed the creative gift in any proportion to his genius for reproduction he would have been a giant composer. As a pianist he has never had his equal. With Liszt's fire and Bülow's intellectuality he nevertheless transcended them both in the possession of a subtle something that defied analysis. We see it in his fugitive compositions that revel on technical heights hitherto unscaled. Tausig had a force, a virility combined with a mental insight, that made him peer of all pianists. It is acknowledged by all who heard him that his technic outshone all others; he had the whispering and crystalline pianissimo of Joseffy, the liquidity of Thalberg's touch, with the resistless power of a Rubinstein.

He literally killed himself playing the piano; his vivid nature felt so keenly in reproducing the beautiful and glorious thoughts of Bach, Beethoven and Chopin, and, like a sabre that was too keen for its own scabbard, he wore himself out from nervous exhaustion. Tausig was many-sided, and the philosophical bent of his mind may be seen in the few fragments of original music he has vouchsafed us. Take a Thalberg operatic fantaisie and a paraphrase of Tausig's, say of Tristan and Isolde, and compare them; then one can readily gauge the vast strides piano music has taken. Touch pure and singing was the Thalbergian ideal. Touch dramatic, full of variety, is the Tausig ideal. One is vocal, the other instrumental, and both seem to fulfill their ideals. Tausig had a hundred touches; from a feathery murmur to an explosive crash he commanded the entire orchestra of contrasts. Thalberg was the cultivated gentleman of the drawing-room, elegiac, but one who never felt profoundly (glance at his étude on repeated notes). Elegant always, jocose never. Tausig was a child of the nineteenth century, full of its ideals, its aimless strivings, its restlessness, its unfaith and desperately sceptical tone. If he had only lived he would have left an imprint on our modern musical life as deep as Franz Liszt, whose pupil he was. Richard Wagner was his god and he strove much for him and his mighty creations.

ROSENTHAL

"You, I presume, do not wish for biographical details--of my appearances as a boy in Vienna and later in St. Petersburg, of my early studies with Joseffy and later with Liszt," asked the great virtuoso. "You would like to hear something about Liszt? As a man or as an artist? You know I was with him ten years, and can flatter myself that I have known him intimately. As a man, I can well say I have never met any one so good and noble as he. Every one knows of his ever-ready helpfulness toward struggling artists, of his constant willingness to further the cause of charity. And when was there ever such a friend? I need only refer you to the correspondence between him and Wagner, published a year ago, for proof of his claims to highest distinction in that oft-abused capacity. One is not only compelled to admire the untiring efforts to assist Wagner in every way that are evidenced in nearly each one of his letters, but one is also obliged to appreciate such acts for which no other documents exist than the history of music in our day. The fact alone that Liszt, who had every stage of Germany open to him if he had so wished, never composed an opera, but used his influence rather in behalf of Wagner's works, speaks fully as eloquently as the many letters that attest his active friendship. For Liszt the artist, my love and admiration are equally great. Even in his inferior works can be discovered the stamp of his genius. Do you know the Polonaise, by Tschaïkowsky, transcribed by him? Is it not a remarkable effort for an old gentleman of seventy-two? And the third Mephisto Waltz for piano? Certain compositions of his, such as Les Prèludes, Die Ideale, Tasso, the Hungarian Rhapsodies, and some of the songs and transcriptions for piano, will unquestionably continue to be performed and enjoyed for many, many years to come.

"You ask how he played? As no one before him, and as no one probably will ever again. I remember when I first went to him as a boy--he was in Rome at the time--he used to play for me in the evening by the hour--nocturnes by Chopin, études of his own--all of a soft, dreamy nature that caused me to open my eyes in wonder at the marvellous delicacy and finish of his touch. The embellishments were like a cobweb--so fine--or like the texture of costliest lace. I thought, after what I had heard in Vienna, that nothing further would astonish me in the direction of digital dexterity, having studied with Joseffy, the greatest master of that art. But Liszt was more wonderful than anybody I had ever known, and he had further surprises in store for me. I had never heard him play anything requiring force, and, in view of his advanced age, took for granted that he had fallen off from what he once had been."

ARTHUR FRIEDHEIM

Arthur Friedheim was born of German parentage in St. Petersburg, October 26, 1859. He lost his father in early youth, but was carefully reared by an excellent mother. His musical studies were begun in his eighth year, and his progress was so rapid that he was enabled to make his artistic début before the St. Petersburg public in the following year by playing Field's A-flat major concerto. He created a still greater sensation, however, after another twelve months had elapsed, with his performance of Weber's difficult piano concerto, reaping general admiration for his work. Despite these successes, the youth was then submitted to a thorough university education, and in 1877 passed his academical examination with great honours. But now the musical promptings of his warm artist soul, no longer able to endure this restraint, having revived, Friedheim with all his energy again devoted himself to his musical advancement, including the study of composition, and it proved a severe blow, indeed, to him when his family soon afterward met with reverses, in losing their estates, thus robbing the young artist of his cheery home surroundings.

From this time Friedheim's artistic wanderings began, and fulfilling a long cherished desire, he, with his mother, first paid a visit to that master of masters, Franz Liszt. Then he went to Dresden, continuing in the composition of an opera begun at St. Petersburg, entitled The Last Days of Pompeii. In order to acquire the necessary routine he accepted a position as conductor of operas for several years, when an irresistible force once more led his steps toward Weimar, where, after he had produced the most favourable impression by the performance of his own piano concerto, with Liszt at a second piano, he took up his permanent abode with the master, accompanying him to Rome and Naples. Meantime Friedheim concertised in Cairo, Alexandria, and Paris, also visiting London in 1882. At the request of Camille Saint-Saëns fragments of his works were produced during his stay in Paris.

Friedheim next went to Vienna, where his concerts met with brilliant success, and later on to Northern Germany, where his renown as a great pianist became firmly established. He enjoyed positive triumphs in Berlin, Leipsic and Carlsruhe. Friedheim's technic, his tone, touch, marvellous certainty, unequalled force and endurance, his broad expression and that rare gift--a style in the grand manner--are the qualities that have universally received enthusiastic praise. In later years he travelled extensively, and more particularly in 1884 to 1886, in Germany. In 1887 he conducted a series of concerts in Leipsic, in 1888 he revisited London, in 1889 he made a tour through Russia and Poland; a second tour through Russia was made in 1890, including Bohemia, Austria, and Galicia, while in 1891 he played numerous engagements in Germany and also in London, whence he came to this country to fulfil a very short engagement.

Albert Morris Bagby wrote as follows in his article, "Some Pupils of Liszt," in the _Century_ about twenty years ago:

"Friedheim! What delightful musical memories and happy recollections are the rare days spent together in Weimar that name excites! D'Albert left there before my time, and though I met him on his flying visits to Weimar, I generally think of him as I first saw him, seated at a piano on the concert platform.

"One late afternoon in August, 1885, Liszt stood before a wide-open window of his salon on the second floor of the court gardener's residence in Weimar, and his thoughtful gaze wandered out beyond the long row of hothouses and narrow beds of rare shrubs to the rich leafy growth which shaded the glorious park inclosing this modest home. He was in a serene state of mind after an hour at whist in which he had won the rubber, and now, while his young companions were putting the card-tables and chairs back into their accustomed places about the room, he stood silent and alone. Any one of us would have given more than 'a penny for his thoughts,' a fact which he probably divined, for, without turning his head, he said; 'Friedheim did indeed play beautifully!' referring to the young pianist's performance of his A major concerto that afternoon in the class lesson.

"'And the accompaniment was magnificently done, too!' added one of the small party.

"'Ah!' exclaimed the master, with an animated look and gesture which implied, 'that goes without saying.' 'Friedheim,' said he, and lifted his hand with a proud sweep to indicate his estimation of his favourite pupil, who had supplied the orchestral part on a second piano. After Friedheim's triumphal début at Leipsic in the spring of 1884, Liszt was so much gratified that he expressed with unwonted warmth his belief that the young man would yet become the greatest piano virtuoso of the age. He was then just twenty-four years old, and his career since that event points toward the fulfilment of the prophecy.

"Arthur Friedheim is the most individual performer I have ever heard. A very few executants equal him in mere finger dexterity, but he surpasses them all in his gigantic strength at the instrument and in marvellous clearness and brilliancy. At times he plays with the unbridled impetuosity of a cyclone; and even while apparently dealing the piano mighty blows, which from other hands would sound forced and discordant, they never cease to be melodious. This musical, penetrating quality of touch is the chief charm of Friedheim's playing. He makes the piano sing, but its voice is full and sonorous. If he plays a pianissimo passage the effect is as clear and sweet as a perfectly attuned silver bell, and his graduated increase or diminution of tone is the acme of artistic finish. No living pianist performs Liszt's compositions so well as Friedheim. This fact was unanimously mentioned by the critics upon his first appearance in Berlin in a 'Liszt concert,' in conjunction with the fear that he would not succeed as an interpreter of Beethoven and Chopin; which, however, the new virtuoso has since proved groundless. Friedheim is one of the most enjoyable and inspiriting of the great pianists. His playing of Liszt's second rhapsody produces an electric shock; and once heard from him La Campanella remains in the memory an ineffaceable tone poem. To me he has made likewise indelible Chopin's lovely D-flat major prelude.

"Friedheim is of medium height and weight; has regular, clear-cut features, dark brown eyes, and hair pushed straight back from a high, broad forehead and falling over his coat collar, artist fashion. In his street dress, with a bronze velvet jacket, great soft felt hat and a gold medallion portrait of Liszt worn as a scarf pin, he is the typical musician. His resemblance to the early pictures of Liszt is as marked as that of D'Albert to Tausig. He was born and bred in St. Petersburg, though his parents are German. I know nothing of his early instructors, but it is sufficient to say that he was at least nine years with Liszt. Fortune favoured him with a relative of unusual mental power who has made his advancement her life work. To these zealous mothers of musicians the world is indebted for some of the greatest artistic achievements of every time and period. There are many celebrated instances where application is almost entirely lacking or fluctuating in the child of genius, and the mother supplied the deficiency of character until the artist was fully developed, and steadiness of purpose had become routine with him. One evening I was sitting with Friedheim and his mother in one of those charming restaurant gardens which abound in Weimar when we were joined by two of the Lisztianer, convivial spirits who led a happy-go-lucky existence. 'Come, Arthur,' said one, 'we will go to the "Armbrust" for a few minutes--music there to-night. Will be right back, Mrs. Friedheim.' 'No,' replied the mother, pleasantly, 'Arthur remains with me this evening.' 'But, mother, we will be gone only a few minutes, and I have already practiced seven hours to-day,' entreated the son. 'Yes, dear child, and you must practice seven more to-morrow. I think you had better remain with me,' responded his parent. Friedheim good-naturedly assented to his mother's speech, for the nocturnal merry-makings of a certain clique of divers artists at the 'Hotel zum Elephanten' were too well-known to risk denial."

JOSEFFY

Descent counts for much in matters artistic as well as in the breeding of racehorses. "Tell me who the master is and I will describe for you the pupil," cry some theorists who might be called extremists. How many to-day know the name of Anton Rubinstein's master? Yet the pedagogue Villoing laid the foundation of the great Russian pianist's musical education, an education completed by the genial Franz Liszt. In the case, however, of Rafael Joseffy he was a famous pupil of a famous master. There are some critics who claim that Karl Tausig represents the highest development of piano playing in this century of piano-playing heroes. His musical temperament so finely fibred, his muscular system like steel thrice tempered is duplicated in his pupil, who, at an age when boys are gazing at the world across the threshold of Toy-land, was an accredited artist, a virtuoso in knee-breeches!

Rafael Joseffy stands to-day for all that is exquisite and poetic in the domain of the piano. His touch is original, his manipulation of the mechanism of the instrument unapproachable, a virtuoso among virtuosi, and the beauty of his tone, its velvety, aristocratic quality, so free from any suspicion of harshness or brutality, gives him a unique position in the music-loving world. There is magic in his attack, magic and moonlight in his playing of a Chopin nocturne, and brilliancy--a meteor-like brilliancy--in his performance of a Liszt concerto.

This rare combination of the virtuoso and the poet places Joseffy outside the pale of popular "pianism." From Tausig he inherited his keen and severe sense of rhythm; from his native country, Hungary, he absorbed brilliancy and colour sense. When Joseffy was young he delighted in the exhibition of his fabulous technic, but he has mellowed, he has matured, and superimposed upon the brilliancies of his ardent youth are the thoughtful interpretations of the intellectual artist. He is a classical pianist par excellence, and his readings of Bach, Beethoven, Schumann, and Brahms are authoritative and final. To the sensitive finish he now unites a breadth of tone and feeling, and you may gauge the catholicity of the man by his love for both Chopin and Brahms.

There you have Joseffy, an interpreter of Brahms and Chopin! No need to expatiate further on his versatility! His style has undergone during the past five years a thorough purification. He has successfully combated the temptation of excess in colour, of the too lusty exuberance in the use of his material, of abuse of the purely decorative side of his art. Touching the finer rim of the issues of his day Joseffy emulates the French poet, Paul Verlaine, in his devotion to the nuance, to the shade within shade that may be expressed on the keyboard of the piano. Yet his play never lacks the robust ring, the virile accent. He is no mere pianissimist, striving for effects of the miniaturist; rather in his grasp of the musical content of a composition does he reveal his acuity and fine spiritual temper.

OSCAR BERINGER

"To Franz Liszt, who towers high above all his predecessors, must be given pride of place.

"In 1870 I had the good fortune to go with Tausig to the Beethoven Festival held at Weimar by the Allgemeiner Musik Verein, and there I met Liszt for the first time. I had the opportunity of learning to know him from every point of view, as pianist, conductor, composer, and, in his private capacity, as a man--and every aspect seemed to me equally magnificent.

"His remarkable personality had an indescribable fascination, which made itself felt at once by all who came into contact with him. This wonderful magnetism and power to charm all sorts and conditions of men was illustrated in a delightful way. He was walking down Regent Street one day, on his way to his concert at the St. James' Hall. As he passed the cab-rank, he was recognised, and the cabbies as one man took off their hats and gave three rousing cheers for 'The Habby Liszt.' The man who can evoke the enthusiasm of a London cabby, except by paying him treble his fare, is indeed unique and inimitable!

"As a Conductor, the musical world owes him an undying debt of gratitude for having been the first to produce Wagner's Lohengrin, and to revive Tannhäuser in the face of the opprobrium heaped upon this work by the whole of the European press. It was he, too, who first produced Berlioz's Benvenuto Cellini and many other works, which, though neglected and improperly understood at that time, have since come into their kingdom and received due recognition.

"As a Composer, I do not think that Liszt has hitherto been esteemed as highly as he deserves. If only for having invented the symphonic poem, which was an absolutely new form of orchestral composition, he has merited the highest honours; while his pre-eminence is still undisputed in the bravura style of pianoforte works, without one or more of which no pianoforte recital seems complete. The same compliment is not paid his orchestral works, which are performed far too rarely.

"Words cannot describe him as a Pianist--he was incomparable and unapproachable."

CLARA NOVELLO

There are interesting anecdotes of great musicians. Rossini was her intimate friend and adviser for years. In Paris she knew Chopin, who came to the house often and would only play for them if "la petite Clara would recite Peter Piper Picked." She remembered waltzing to his and Thalberg's playing. Later, when she was studying in Milan and knew Liszt, she sang at one of his concerts when no one else would do so, because he had offended the Milanese by a pungent newspaper article. He gave her courage to have a tooth out by playing Weber's Concertstück. She remembered hearing Paganini play when that arch-trickster took out a pair of scissors and cut three of the strings of his violin so that they hung down loose, and on the fourth performed his Witches' Dance, so that "the lights seemed to turn blue."

BIZET

We are not accustomed to thinking of the composer of Carmen as a pianist, but the following anecdote from the _London Musical Standard_ throws new light upon the subject:

"It may not be generally known that the French composer, Bizet, possessed to a very high degree two artistic qualities: a brilliant technique and an extraordinary skill in score reading. On various occasions he gave proof of this great ability. One of the most interesting is the following:

"Bizet's fellow-countryman, the composer Halévy, who filled the position of secretary to the Academy of Fine Arts in Paris, had gathered a few of his friends at his house for a little supper. In the circle were Liszt and Bizet. After they had finished their repast, the company went to the host's music room. Gathered around the fireplace, which increased the charm or comfort, and with cigars and coffee, the guests gave themselves up to an animated conversation; finally Liszt seated himself at the piano. The famous master played one of his compositions which was unknown to those present. He overcame its tremendous difficulties with the customary audacity and strength. A storm of applause followed the brilliant execution. Liszt ended with a brilliant passage which seemed absolutely impossible to mortal fingers. Every one pressed around the great pianist, shaking his hands enthusiastically and admiring not only his unequalled playing, but praising also the clever composition, which could have been written only by so masterful a composer.

"'Yes,' replied Liszt, 'the piece is difficult, terribly difficult, and in all Europe I know only two pianists who are able to play it with the interpretation which belongs to it, and in the tempo which I have used, Von Bülow and myself!'

"Halévy, with whom Bizet had studied, had also joined the circle around the piano and complimented the master. Suddenly turning to the young Bizet, whose fine memory and ability he well knew, he said:

"'Did you notice that passage?' He accompanied the question with a few chords which sketched the passage in question, which had aroused his attention. Accepting the implied invitation, Bizet took his place at the piano, and, without the slightest hesitation, repeated the passage which had drawn out the admiration of his teacher.

"Liszt observed the clever youngster with astonishment, while Halévy, smiling slyly, could scarcely suppress his joy over Liszt's surprise.

"'Just wait a moment, young man, just wait!' said Liszt, interrupting. 'I have the manuscript with me. It will help your memory.'

"The manuscript was quickly brought, and placed upon the piano rack. Bizet, to the general astonishment, immediately took up the difficult piece, and played it through to the final chord with a verve and rapidity which no one had expected from him. Not once was there a sign of weakness or hesitation. An enthusiastic and long clapping of hands followed the playing. Halévy continued to smile, enjoying to the full the triumph of his favourite pupil.

"But Liszt, who always rose to an occasion and was never chary of praise for others, stepped to the young man's side after the wave of applause had subsided, pressed his hand in a friendly manner, and said with irresistible kindness, 'My young friend, up to the present time I believed that there were only two men capable of overcoming the tremendous difficulties which I wrote in that piece, but I deceived myself--there are three of us; and I must add, in order to be just, that the youngest of us is perhaps the cleverest and the most brilliant.'"

SGAMBATI

"One of the pioneers of classical music in Italy, and one of its most talented composers of chamber music and in symphonic forms, is Giovanni Sgambati, born in Rome, May 18, 1843," writes Edward Burlingame Hill, in the _Etude_. "His father was a lawyer; his mother, an Englishwoman, was the daughter of Joseph Gott, the English sculptor. There had been some idea of making a lawyer of young Sgambati, but the intensity of his interest in music and his obvious talent precluded the idea of any other career. When he was but six years old, his father died, and he went with his mother to live in Trevii, in Umbria, where she soon married again. Even at this early age he played in public, sang contralto solos in church, and also conducted small orchestras. When a little older he studied the piano, harmony and composition with Natalucci, a pupil of Zingarelli, a famous teacher at the Naples conservatory. He returned in 1860 to Rome, where he became at once popular as a pianist, in spite of the severity of his programmes, for he played the works of Beethoven, Chopin and Schumann, and the fugues of Bach and Handel. Many of these works were entirely unknown to Italian audiences; he thus became an ardent propagandist of the best literature of the piano. His next teacher was Professor Aldega, master of the Capella Liberiana of Santa Maria Maggiore. He was on the point of leaving for Germany for further study when Liszt came to Rome, became interested in Sgambati and took him in charge for special instruction in the mysteries of higher piano playing. He soon became the leading exponent of the Liszt school of technic and interpretation. Sgambati was the soloist in a famous series of classical chamber music concerts inaugurated in Rome by Ramaciotti; he was (as mentioned before) the first interpreter of the works of Schumann, who in the years 1862-63 was virtually unknown in Italy. Later he began to give orchestral concerts at which the symphonies and concertos of the German masters were given for the first time. In 1866, when the Dante Gallery was inaugurated, Liszt chose Sgambati to conduct his Dante symphony. On this occasion Beethoven's Eroica symphony was given for the first time in Rome.

"In 1869, he travelled in Germany with Liszt, meeting many musicians of note, among them Wagner, Rubinstein, and Saint-Saëns, hearing The Rhinegold at Munich. Wagner, in particular, became so much interested in Sgambati's compositions that he secured a publisher for them by his emphatic recommendations. On returning to Rome, Sgambati founded a free piano class at the Academy of St. Cecilia, since adopted as a part of its regular course of instruction. In 1878, he became professor of the piano at the Academy, and at present is its director. In 1896, he founded the Nuova Società Musicale Romana (the Roman New Musical Society) for increasing interest in Wagnerian opera. Sgambati has been an occasional visitor to foreign cities, notably London and Paris, both in the capacity of pianist and as conductor; he has led performances of his symphonies in various Italian cities, and at concerts where the presence of royalty lent distinction to the audience.

"Miss Bettina Walker, a pupil of Sgambati in 1879, gives a most delightful picture of Sgambati in her book, My Musical Experiences. A few extracts may assist in forming an idea of his personality. 'He then played three or four pieces of Liszt's, winding up the whole with a splendid reading of Bach's Chromatic Fantasy. In everything that he played, Sgambati far exceeded all that I could have anticipated. His lovely, elastic touch, the weight and yet the softness of his wrist staccato, the swing and go of his rhythmic beat, the colouring rich and warm, and yet most exquisitely delicate, and over all the atmosphere of grace, the charm and the repose which perfect mastery alone can give'--'But to return to the relation of my studies with Sgambati. He gave me the scales to practice in thirds, and arpeggios in the diminished sevenths, for raising the fingers from the keyboard--recommending these as the best possible daily drills for the fingers. He also gave me some guidance in the first book of Kullak's octave-studies and he tried to initiate me into the elastic swing and movement of the wrist, so important in the octave-playing of modern compositions. Sgambati's playing of Liszt was, now that I compare him with many others whom I have since heard, more poetical than any. In the sudden fortissimi so characteristic of the school his tone was always rich and full, never wooden or shrill; while his pianissimi were so subtle and delicate, and the nuances, the touches of beauty, were fraught with a sighing, lingering, quite inimitable sweetness, which one could compare to nothing more material than the many hues where sky and ocean seem to melt and blend, in a dream of tender ecstasy, along the coast-line between Baia and Naples.'"

BACHE

Walter Bache died April, 1888, and the London _Figaro_ gives the following sketch of this artist:

"The awfully sudden death of poor Walter Bache on Monday night sent a shock through the whole of the London world of music. Some of his most intimate friends were present at the final popular concert on that evening, but none of them knew anything at all of the death. We have it on the authority of a member of his family that not even those whom he held most dear were in the slightest degree aware that he was in any danger. Only a few days ago he was present at a concert in St. James' Hall. But it seems he caught a chill. Next day he became worse, the cold doubtless settled upon his lungs, and the third day he died. Notification of the death did not reach even the daily papers until midnight. The obituary writers were then certainly not assisted by Sir George Grove, who, in the thousands of pages which form the four gigantic volumes of his so-called Dictionary of Musicians, could not spare a paragraph to narrate the story of the life of one who for a quarter of a century has been a central figure of English musical life, and who from his gentleness, his gifts and his son-like affection for his master Liszt will shine as a bright picture in the pages of English musical history.

"We need not go very deeply into the history of Walter Bache's life. He was born in June, 1842, at Birmingham, and was the son of an Unitarian minister. From his birth till his death two special points stand out boldly in his career. Until his 'prodigy' brother Edward died in 1858 he was taught only by Stimpson, of Birmingham. The death of his brother was the first great incident of his life. His own education was then more thoroughly cared for than before, and he was sent to Leipsic, where, under Plaidy, Moscheles, Richter (not the conductor) and Hauptman, he was a fellow student of Sullivan, Carl Rosa, J. F. Barnett and Franklin Taylor. All five boys have since become eminent, but each one in a totally different line, and, indeed, it may fairly be said that to a great extent the Leipsic class of that period held the fortunes of modern musical England. When the class broke up in 1861 Bache travelled in Italy, and in 1862 at his meeting with Liszt occurred the second great incident in his career. From that time Liszt and Bache were fast friends. But Bache to the day of his death never aspired to be more than the pupil of his master.

"Teach he must do for daily bread, but compose he would not, as he knew he could not surpass Liszt, although all his savings were devoted to the Liszt propaganda. It is not for us, standing as we do on the brink of the grave of a good man, to determine whether he was right or wrong. It will suffice that Walter Bache's devotion to Liszt was one of the most beautiful and the most sentimental things of a musically material age. Liszt rewarded him on his last visit to London by attending a reception which Bache, at great expense, gave in his honour at the Grosvenor Gallery. Bache is now dead; a blameless and a useful life cut short in its very prime."

RUBINSTEIN

"Antoine Rubinstein, of whom no one in Paris had ever heard before, for this great artist had the coquettish temerity to disdain the assistance of the press, and no advance notice, none at all, you understand, had announced his apparition," has written Saint-Saëns, "made his appearance in his concerto in G major, with orchestra, in the lovely Herz concert room, so novel in construction and so elegant in aspect, of which one can no more avail himself to-day. Useless to say, there was not a single paying hearer in the room, but next morning, nevertheless, the artist was celebrated, and at the second concert there was a prodigious jam. I was there at the second concert, and at the first notes I was overthrown and chained to the car of the conqueror.

"Concerts followed one another, and I did not miss a single one. Some one proposed to present me to the great artist, but in spite of his youth (he was then twenty-eight), and in spite of his reputation for urbanity, he awakened in me a horrible timidity; the idea of being near him, of addressing a word to him, terrified me profoundly. It was only at his second coming to Paris, a year later, that I dared to brave his presence. The ice between us two was quickly broken. I acquired his friendship in deciphering upon his own piano the orchestral score of his Ocean Symphony. I read very well then, and his symphonic music, written large and black, was not very difficult to read.

"From this day a lively sympathy united us; the simplicity and evident sincerity of my admiration touched him. We were together assiduously, often played together for four hands, subjected to rude tests the piano which served as our field of battle, without regard to the ears of our hearers. It was a good time! We made music with passion simply for the sake of making it, and we never had enough. I was so happy to have encountered an artist who was wholly an artist, exempt from the littleness which sometimes makes so bad a barrier around great talent. He came back every winter, and always enlarged his success and consolidated our friendship."

VIARDOT-GARCIA

With the exception of the Bachs, who were noted musicians for six generations, and the Viennese branch of the Strauss dynasty, there is perhaps no musical family that affords a more interesting illustration of heredity in a special talent than the Garcias. The elder Garcia, who was born in 1775, was not only a great tenor and teacher, but a prolific composer of operas. His two famous daughters also became composers, as well as singers. Madame Viardot (who died in 1910) was so lucky as to be able to base her operettas on librettos written by Turgenev. Liszt said of her that "in all that concerns method and execution, feeling and expression, it would be hard to find a name worthy to be mentioned with that of Malibran's sister," and Wagner was amazed and delighted when she sang the Isolde music in a whole act of his Tristan at sight. She studied the piano with Liszt and played brilliantly.

LISZT AS A FREEMASON

Memorial tablets have been placed on each of the two houses at Weimar in which Liszt used to reside. He first lived at the Altenburg and later on at the Hofgärtnerei. The act of piety was undertaken by the Allgemeiner Deutscher Musikverein, of which organisation Liszt was the president up to the time of his death.

It has been asserted that Liszt was a Freemason after his consecration as a priest. This has been contradicted, but the following from the _Freemason's Journal_ appears to settle the question:

"On the 31st of July last one of the greatest artists and men departed at Bayreuth for the eternal east, who had proved himself a worthy member of our brotherhood by his deeds through his whole eventful life. It is Brother Franz Liszt, on whose grave we deposit an acacia branch. Millions of florins Franz Liszt had earned on his triumphal career--for others. His art, his time, his life, were given to those who claimed it. Thus he journeyed, a living embodiment of the St. Simonism to which he once belonged, through his earthly pilgrimage. Brother Franz Liszt was admitted into the brotherhood in the year 1844, at the lodge 'Unity' ('Zur Einigkeit'), in Frankfort-on-the-Main, by George Kloss, with the composer, W. Ch. Speyer as witness, and in the presence of Felix von Lichnowsky. He was promoted to the second degree in a lodge at Berlin, and elected master in 1870, as member of the lodge 'Zur Einigkeit,' in Budapest. Since 1845 he was also honorary member of the L. Modestia cum Libertate at Zurich. If there ever was a Freemason in favour with Pope Pius IX it was Franz Liszt, created abbé in 1865 in Rome."

A LISZT SON?

A letter from Paris to the Vienna _Monday Review_ says that in the salon of the Champ de Mars a picture is on exhibition, called Italian Bagpiper. While its artistic points are hardly worthy of special mention the striking resemblance of this work by Michael Vallet to the facial traits of Franz Liszt puzzled the jury not a little, and will doubtless create much interest among the visitors of the gallery. The model for the subject was a boat-hand of Genoa named Angelo Giocati-Buonaventi, fifty-six years of age. It was while strolling about the Genoese wharves that Vallet noticed the sparse form of Angelo, whose beardless face recalled to him at once Franz Liszt's.

Angelo consented willingly to pose for the piper, but all questions as to his family extraction were answered with a laconic Chi lo sa? Vallet, by making inquiries in other directions, learned that Angelo came originally from Albano. He took a trip to that place, and after the lapse of a few days wrote a friend in Paris: "Found! Found! The surmise regarding my Angelo is correct. This boathand is without any doubt a son of Countess d'Agoult, whose relations with Franz Liszt are known throughout the world, and was born here in the year 1834. I found a picture of the countess in the home of a sister-in-law of a lately deceased peasant woman, Giocati-Buonaventi. This latter was the nurse and later the woman who had the motherly care of my Angelo...."

It happened that at the same time, as if to corroborate Vallet's statement, the _Review de Paris_ published an interesting correspondence between Georges Sand and Countess d'Agoult. The latter writes from Albano under date of June 9, 1839: "It was our intention to present our respects to the Sultan this summer, but our trip to Constantinople came to naught. A little fellow that I had the caprice to bring here into the world prevented the carrying out of the plan. The boy promises to be a beauty. One of the handsomest women of Palestrina furnishes the milk for his nourishment. It is to be regretted that Franz has again one of his fits of melancholy. [She speaks of Liszt repeatedly in this letter, giving him the pet name _crétin_.] The thought of being father to _three_ little children seems to depress his mind...."

The three children being accounted for, the story of Vallet regarding Angelo has no foundation in fact, and we would not even mention it if it was not making the rounds of the Continental press.

LISZT ON VIRTUOSITY

In these days of virtuosity let us hear what Liszt, the master of all virtuosi, says:

"What, then, makes the virtuoso on an instrument?" asks the master, and we gain on this occasion the most comprehensive and the most decisive information on the point ourselves. Is he really a mere spiritless machine? Do his hands only attend to the office of a double winch on a street organ? Has he to dispense with his brain and with his feelings in his mechanical execution of the prescribed performance? Has he to supply the ear only with a photograph of the object before him? Such representations bring him to the somewhat proud remark: "We know too well how many amongst those who enjoy great praise, unable to translate even to the letter the original that is on the desk before them, degrade its sense, carrying on the art as a trade, and not understanding even the trade itself. However victorious a counterfeit may be, it does not destroy the power of the real authors and poet virtuosi; they are for those who are 'called' to an extent of which a degraded public, under an illegitimate and ignorant 'dominion,' has no idea. You hear the rolling of the thunder, the roaring of the lion, the far-spreading sound of man's strength. For the words virtuosity and virtus are derived from the Latin 'vir'; the execution of both is an act of manly power," says he, and characterises now his 'artist' as follows: "The virtuoso is not a mason, who, with the chisel in his hand, faithfully and conscientiously cuts his stone after the design of the architect. He is not a passive tool that reproduces feeling and thought without adding himself. He is not the more or less experienced reader of works that have no margin for his notes, and which make no paragraph necessary between the lines. These spiritedly written musical works are in reality for the virtuoso only the tragic and touching putting-in-scene of feelings; he is called upon to let these speak, weep, sing, sigh--to render these to his own consciousness. He creates in this way like the composer himself, for he must embrace in himself those passions which he, in their complete brilliancy, has to bring to light. He breathes life into the lethargic body, infuses it with fire, and enlivens it with the pulse of gracefulness and charm. He changes the clayey form into a living being, penetrating it with the spark which Prometheus snatched from the flash of Jupiter. He must make this form wander in transparent ether; he must arm it with a thousand winged arms; he must unfold scent and blossom and breathe into it the breath of life. Of all artists the virtuoso reveals perhaps most immediately the overpowering forces of the god who, in glowing embraces of the proud muse, allures every hidden secret."

LISZT'S FAVOURITE PIANO

LETTER FROM DR. FRANZ LISZT

"WEIMAR, _November, 1883_.

"MR. STEINWAY:

"_Most Esteemed Sir_: Again I owe you many and special thanks. The new Steinway Grand is a glorious masterpiece in power, sonority, singing quality, and perfect harmonic effects, affording delight even to my old piano-weary fingers. Ever continuing success remains a beautiful attribute of the world-renowned firm of Steinway & Sons. In your letter, highly esteemed sir, you mention some new features in the Grand Piano, _viz._, the vibrating body being bent into form out of one continuous piece, and that portion of the strings heretofore lying dormant being now a part of and thus incorporated as partial tones into the foundation tones. Their utility is emphatically guaranteed by the name of the inventor. Owing to my ignorance of the mechanism of piano construction I can but praise the magnificent _result_ in the 'volume and quality of sound.' In relation to the use of your welcome tone-sustaining pedal I inclose two examples: Danse des Sylphes, by Berlioz, and No. 3 of my Consolations. I have to-day noted down only the introductory bars of both pieces, with this proviso, that, if you desire it, I shall gladly complete the whole transcription, with exact adaptation of your tone-sustaining pedal.

"Very respectfully and gratefully,

"F. LISZT."

LISZT AS TEACHER

"While Liszt has been immensely written about as pianist and composer, sufficient stress has not been laid upon what the world owes him as a teacher of pianoforte playing," writes Amy Fay. "During his life-time Liszt despised the name of 'piano-teacher,' and never suffered himself to be regarded as such. 'I am no Professeur du Piano,' he scornfully remarked one day in the class at Weimar, and if any one approached him as a 'teacher' he instantly put the unfortunate offender outside of his door.

"I was once a witness of his haughty treatment of a Leipsic pupil of the fair sex, who came to him one day and asked him 'to give her a few lessons.' He instantly drew himself up and replied in the most cutting tone:

"'I do not give lessons on the piano; and,' he added with a bow, in which grace and sarcasm were combined, 'you really don't need me as a teacher.'

"There was a dead silence for a minute, and then the poor girl, not knowing what to do or say, backed herself out of the room. Liszt, turning to the class, said:

"'That is the way people fly in my face, by dozens! They seem to think I am there only to give them lessons on the piano. I have to get rid of them, for I am no Professor of the Piano. This girl did not play badly, either,' concluded he, half ashamed of himself for his treatment of her.

"For my part, I was awfully sorry for the girl, and I was tempted to run after her and bring her back, and intercede with Liszt to take her; but I was a new-comer myself, and did not quite dare to brave the lion in his den. Later, I would have done it, for the girl was really very talented, and it was a mere want of tact on her part in her manner of approaching Liszt which precipitated her defeat. She brought him Chopin's F minor concerto, and played the middle movement of it, Liszt standing up and thundering out the orchestral accompaniment, tremolo, in the bass of the piano. I wondered it did not put the girl out, but she persisted bravely to the end, and did not break down, as I expected she would.

"She came at an inopportune moment, for there were only five of us in the room, and we were having a most entertaining time with Liszt, that lovely June afternoon, and he did not feel disposed to be interrupted by a stranger. In spite of himself, he could not help doing justice to her talent, saying: 'She did not play at all badly.' This, however, the poor girl never knew. She probably wept briny tears of disappointment when she returned to her hotel.

"While Liszt resented being called a 'piano-teacher,' he nevertheless _was one_, in the higher sense of the term. It was the difference between the scientific college professor of genius and the ordinary school-teacher which distinguished him from the rank and file of musical instructors.

"Nobody could be more appreciative of talent than Liszt was--even of talent which was not of the first order--and I was often amazed to see the trouble he would give himself with some industrious young girl who had worked hard over big compositions like Schumann's Carnival, or Chopin's sonatas. At one of the musical gatherings at the Frauleins' Stahr (music-teachers in Weimar, to whose simple home Liszt liked to come) I have heard him accompany on a second piano Chopin's E minor concerto, which was technically well played, by a girl of nineteen from the Stuttgart Conservatory.

"It was a contrast to see this young girl, with her rosy cheeks, big brown eyes, and healthy, everyday sort of talent, at one piano, and Liszt, the colossal artist, at the other.

"He was then sixty-three years old, but the fire of youth burned in him still. Like his successor, Paderewski, Liszt sat erect, and never bent his proud head over the 'stupid keys,' as he called them, even deprecating his pupils' doing so. He was very picturesque, with his lofty and ideal forehead thrown back, and his magnificent iron-gray hair falling in thick masses upon his neck. The most divine expression came over his face when he began to play the opening measures of the accompaniment, and I shall never forget the concentration and intensity he put into them if I live to be a hundred! The nobility and absolute 'selflessness' of Liszt's playing had to be heard to be understood. There was something about his tone that made you weep, it was so apart from earth and so ethereal!"

VON BÜLOW CRITICISES

"I look forward eagerly," Bülow wrote to a friend, "to your Chopin, that immortal romanticist par excellence, whose mazurkas alone are a monument more enduring than metal. Never will this great, deep, sincere, and at the same time tender and passionate poet become antiquated. On the contrary, as musical culture increases, he will appear in a much brighter light than to-day, when only the popular Chopin is in vogue, whereas the more aristocratic, manly Chopin, the poet of the last two scherzi, the last two ballads, the barcarole, the polonaise-fantaisie, the nocturnes, Op. 9, No. 3; Op. 48; Op. 55, No. 2, etc., still awaits the interpreters who have entered into his spirit and among whom, if God grants me life, I should like to have the pride of counting myself.

"You know from my introduction to the études how highly I esteem Chopin. In his pieces we find Lenau, Byron, Musset, Lamartine, and at the same time all sorts of heathen Apollo priests. You shall learn through me to love him dearly.

"We must grant Chopin the great distinction of having in his works fixed the boundaries between piano and orchestral music, which other romanticists, notably Robert Schumann, confused, to the detriment of both.

"There are two Chopins--one an aristocrat, the other democratic."

Concerning the mazurka, Op. 50, No. 1, he said: "In this mazurka there is dancing, singing, gesticulating.

"Chopin's pupils issued in Paris an edition of his works. Chopin's pupils are, however, as unreliable as the girls who pose as Liszt's pupils. Use the Klindworth edition.

"Liszt's ballads and polonaises have proved most strikingly that it was possible after Chopin to write ballads and polonaises. In the polonaises in particular Liszt opened many new points of view for the widening and spiritualising of that form, quite apart from the individual peculiarities of his productions, which put in place of the national Polish colour an entirely new element, thus making possible the filling out of this form with new contents."

In one of his essays Bülow indignantly attacks the current notion that Liszt's pieces are all unplayable except by concert pianists: "Some day I shall make a list of all of Liszt's pieces for piano which most amateurs will find much easier to master and digest than the chaff of Thalberg or the wheat of Henselt or Chopin. But it seems that the name of Liszt as composer for the piano has become associated inseparably with the words 'inexecutable,' and making 'colossal demands.' It is a harmless prejudice of the ignorant, like many others, but for all that none the less objectionable.

"Liszt does not represent virtuosity as distinguished from music--very far from it.

"The Liszt ballade in B minor is equal in poetic content to Chopin's ballades."

Concerning Liszt's Irrlichter and Gnomenreigen, he said: "I wish the inspired master had written more pieces like these, which are as perfect as any song without words by Mendelssohn."

WEINGARTNER AND LISZT

Weingartner's reminiscences of Liszt throw many interesting lights on the personality of that great composer and greatest of teachers. The gathering of famous artists at his house are well described, and his own mannerisms excellently portrayed. His playing was always marked by the ripest perfection of touch. He did not incline to the impetuous power of his youthful days, but sat almost without motion before the keyboard. His hands glided quietly over the keys, and produced the warm, magnetic stream of tone almost without effort.

His criticism of others was short, but always to the point. His praise would be given heartily, and without reserve, while blame was always concealed in some kindly circumlocution. Once, when a pretty young lady played a Chopin ballade in execrable fashion, he could not contain ejaculations of disgust as he walked excitedly about the room. At the end, however, he went to her kindly, laid his hand gently on her hair, kissed her forehead, and murmured, "Marry soon, dear child--adieu."

Another young lady once turned the tables on the composer. It was the famous Ingeborg von Bronsart, who came to him when eighteen years old, in the full bloom of her fair Northern beauty. Liszt asked her to play,inwardly fearing that this was to be one more of the petted incompetents. But when she played a Bach fugue for him, with the utmost brilliancy, he could not contain his admiration. "Wonderful," he cried, "but you certainly didn't look like it." "I should hope I didn't look like a Bach fugue," was the swift retort, and the two became lifelong friends.

AS ORGAN COMPOSER

Liszt's importance in this field is not overlooked.

"In Germany, the land of seriousness, organ music had acquired a character so heavy and so uniformly contrapuntal that, by the middle of last century, almost any decently trained Capellmeister could produce a sonata dull enough to be considered first-rate. There were, doubtless, many protests in the shape of unorthodox works which left no mark; but two great influences, which are the earliest we need notice, came in the shape of Liszt's Fantasia on the name of Bach and Julius Reubke's Sonata on the Ninety-fourth Psalm. Without minute analysis we may say that the former, though not an entirely great work, was at all events something entirely new. It showed the possibility of freedom of form without shapelessness, of fairly good counterpoint without dulness, of the adaptation of piano technic to the organ in a way never before attempted; and the whole work, brilliant and effective, never outraged in the smallest degree the natural dignity of the instrument."

LISZT'S TECHNIC

Rudolf Breithaupt thus wrote of the technical elements in Liszt's playing in _Die Musik_:

"What we hear of Liszt's technic in his best years, from 1825 to 1850, resembles a fairy tale. As artists, Liszt and Paganini have almost become legendary personages. In analysing Liszt's command of the piano we find that it consists first and foremost in the revelation of a mighty personality rather than in the achievement of unheard of technical feats. Though his admirers will not believe it, technic has advanced since his day. Tausig excelled him in exactness and brilliancy; Von Bülow was a greater master of interpretation: Rubinstein went beyond him in power and in richness of tone-colour, through his consummate use of the pedal. Even contemporary artists, _e.g._, Carreño, d'Albert, Busoni, and in part, Godowsky, are technically equal to Liszt in his best days, and in certain details, owing to the improved mechanism of the piano, even his superior.

"It is time to do away with the fetich of Liszt's technic. It was mighty as an expression of his potent personality, mighty in its domination of all instrumental forms, mighty in its full command of all registers and positions. But I believe that if the Liszt of former days--not the old man whose fingers did not always obey his will, but the young, vigorous Titan of the early nineteenth century--were to play for us now, we should be as little edified as we should probably be by the singing of Jenny Lind or by the playing of Paganini. Exaggeration finds no more fruitful field than the chronicling of the feats of noted artists.

"We hear, for instance, much of Liszt's hand, of its vampire-like clutch, of its uncanny, spidery power of extension--as a child I firmly believed that he could reach two octaves without difficulty. These stories are all fables. His fingers were long and regular, the thumb abnormally long; a more than usual flexibility of muscles and sinews gave him the power of spanning a twelfth. Klindworth tells us that he did some things with his left thumb that one was led to believe it twice the length of an ordinary thumb.

"What chiefly distinguished Liszt's technic was the absolute freedom of his arms. The secret lay in the unconstrained swinging movement of the arm from the raised shoulder, the bringing out of the tone through the impact of the full elastic mass on the keys, a thorough command and use of the freely rolling forearm. He had the gift for which all strove, the rhythmic dance of the members concerned--the springing arm, the springing hand, the springing finger. He played by weight--by a swinging and a hurling of weight from a loosened shoulder that had nothing in common with what is known as finger manipulation. It was by a direct transfer of strength from back and shoulders to fingers, which explains the high position of hands and fingers.

"At the time of his most brilliant period as virtuoso he paid no attention to technic and its means; his temperament was the reverse of analytical--what he wished to do he did without concerning himself as to the how or why. Later in life he did attempt to give some practical suggestions in technic, but these were of but doubtful worth. A genius is not always to be trusted when it comes to theoretical explanation of what he does more by instinct than by calculation.

"His power over an audience was such that he had only to place his hands on the keyboard to awaken storms of applause. Even his pauses had life and movement, for his hands spoke in animated gesture, while his Jupiter-like head, with its mane of flowing hair, exercised an almost hypnotic effect on his entranced listeners.

"From a professional stand-point his execution was not always flawless. His great rival, Thalberg, had greater equality of touch in scales and runs; in what was then known as the jeu perle (literally, pearly playing) his art was also finer. Liszt frequently struck false notes--but ears were closed to such faults; his hearers appeared not to notice them. These spots on the sun are mentioned only to put an end once for all to the foolish stories that are still current about Liszt's wonderful technic. This greatest of all reproductive artists was but a man, and often erred, though in a large and characteristic fashion.

"Liszt's technic is the typical technic of the modern grand piano (Hammerklavier). He knew well the nature of the instrument, its old-fashioned single-tone effects on the one hand, its full harmonic power and polyphonic capabilities on the other. While to his predecessors it was simply a medium for musical purposes, under his hands it was a means of expression for himself, a revelation of his ardent temperament. In comparison with the contracted five-finger positions of the classical technic, its broken chords and arpeggios, Liszt's technic had the advantage of a fuller, freer flow, of greater fulness of tone and increased brilliancy. Chopin has discovered more original forms; his style of writing is far more delicate and graceful; his individual note is certainly more musical, but his technic is special in its character; it lacks the broad sweep that gives Liszt's technic its peculiar freedom and adaptability to the instrument.

"Take Schumann and Brahms also, and compare their manner of writing for the piano with Liszt's. Both have written much that is noble and beautiful considered as music, but so clumsily put on the instrument that it is unduly difficult for the player. With Liszt, however, no matter what the difficulty of the means may be, they are always precisely adapted to the end in view, and everything he writes sounds well. It is no merely theoretical combination, but meant to be played on the piano, and is in strict accordance with the nature of the instrument. The player finds nothing laboriously put together and requiring study for its disentanglement. Liszt considers the structure of the hand, and assigns it tasks suited to its capabilities.

"Among the distinctively original features of Liszt's technic are the bold outline, the large form, the imitative effects of organ and clavier, the orchestral timbre it imparts to the piano. We thank him also for the use of the thumb in the declamation of pathetic cantilena, for a breadth of melodic characterisation which resembles that of the horn and violoncello, for the imitation of brass instruments, for the great advance in all sorts of tremolos, trills and vibratos, which serve to give colour and intensity to moments of climax. His finger passages are not merely empty runs, but are like high lights in a picture; his cadenzas fairly sparkle like comet trains and are never introduced for display alone. They are preparatory, transitional or conclusive in character; they point contrasts, they heighten dramatic climaxes. His scales and arpeggios have nothing in common with the stiff monotony of the Czerny school of playing; they express feeling, they give emotional variety, they embellish a melody with ineffable grace. He often supplies them with thirds and sixths, which fill out their meagre outlines and furnish support to hands and fingers.

"In his octave technic Liszt has embodied all the elementary power and wildness of his nature. His octaves rage in chromatic and diatonic scales, in broken chords and arpeggios, up and down, hither and thither, like zigzag flashes of lightning. Here he is seen at his boldest, _e.g._, in his Orage, Totentanz, Mazeppa, Don Juan fantasia, VI Rhapsody, etc. In the trill, too, he has given us such novel forms as the simple trill with single fingers of each hand, the trill in double thirds in both hands, the octave trill--all serving to intensify the introduction or close of the salient divisions of a composition.

"From Liszt dates the placing of a melody in the fullest and most ringing register of the piano--that corresponding to the tenor or baritone compass of voice; also the division of the accompaniment between the two hands and the extension of hand-crossing technic. To him we owe exactness in the fixing of tempo, the careful designation of signs for dynamics and expression, the use of three staves instead of two for the sake of greater clearness of notation, as well as the modern installation of the pedal.

"In short, Liszt is not only the creator of the art of piano playing as we have it to-day, but his is the strongest musical influence in modern musical culture. But granting this, those thinkers who declare this influence not unmixed with harm are not altogether wrong. It is not the fault of genius, however, that undesirable consequences follow in its wake. It is also my opinion that it will do no harm to retrace our steps and revive the more simple times when there was less piano playing and more music."

BUSONI

Busoni is preparing a complete edition of Liszt's compositions, to be published by Breitkopf & Härtel. Concerning the studies, which are to appear in three volumes, he says:

"These études, a work which occupied Franz Liszt from childhood on up to manhood, we believe should be put at the head of his piano compositions. There are three reasons for this: the first is the fact that the études were the first of his works to be published; the second is that in Liszt's own catalogue of his works (Themat. Verz. Br. H. 1855), he puts the études at the very beginning; and the third and most patent is that these works in their entirety reflect as do no others Liszt's pianistic personality in the bud, shoot, and flower.

"These fifty-eight piano pieces alone would serve to place Liszt in the ranks of the greatest piano composers since Beethoven--Chopin, Schumann, Alkan, and Brahms; but proof of his superiority over these is found in his complete works, of which the études are only a small part.

"They afford a picture of him in manifold lights and poses, giving us an opportunity to know and observe him in the different phases of his character: the diabolic as well as the religious--those who acknowledge God do not make light of the devil--the refined and the animated; now as an illustrative interpreter of every style and again as a marvellous transformation artist who can with convincing mimicry don the costume of any country. This collection consists of a work for piano which contains within its circumference every phase, nation, and epoch of musical expression from Palestrina to Parsifal, whereby Liszt shows himself as a creator of twofold character--both subjective and objective."

LISZT AS A PIANOFORTE WRITER

"Nothing is easier than to estimate Liszt the pianist, nothing more difficult than to estimate Liszt the composer. As to Liszt the pianist, old and young, conservatives and progressives, not excepting the keyboard specialists, are perfectly agreed that he was unique, unsurpassed, and unsurpassable," says Professor Niecks. "As to Liszt the composer, on the other hand, opinions differ widely and multifariously--from the attribution of superlative genius to the denial of the least talent. This diversity arises from partisanship, individuality of taste, and the various conceptions formed of the nature of creative power. Those, however, who call Liszt a composer without talent confess themselves either ignorant of his achievements, or incapable of distinguishing good from bad and of duly apportioning praise and blame. Those, on the other hand, who call Liszt a creative genius should not omit to observe and state that his genius was qualitatively unlike the genius of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Schumann. With him the creative impulse was, in the main, and, as a rule, an intellectual impulse. With the great masters mentioned, the impulse was of a general origin, all the faculties co-operating. While with them the composition was always spontaneous, being, however great the travail, a birth, not a making; with Liszt it was often reflective, the solution of a problem, an experiment, a caprice, a defiance of conventional respectability, or a device for the dumfounding and electrification of the gaping multitude. In short, Liszt was to a larger extent inventive than creative. The foregoing remarks do not pretend to be more than a suggestive attempt at explaining the inexplicable differences of creative power. That Liszt could be spontaneous and in the best sense creative, he has proved by whole compositions, and more frequently by parts of compositions. That has to be noted; as well as that his love of experimenting and scorn for the familiar, not to mention the commonplace, led him often to turn his back on the beautiful and to embrace the ugly.

"As a composer of pianoforte music, Liszt's merits are more generally acknowledged than as a composer of any other kind. Here indeed his position is a commanding one. We should be obliged to regard him with respect, admiration, and gratitude, even if his compositions were æsthetically altogether a failure. For they incorporate an original pianoforte style, a style that won new resources from the instrument, and opened new possibilities to the composer for it, and the player on it. The French Revolution of 1830 aroused Liszt from a state of lethargy. A year after this political revolution, there occurred an event that brought about in him an artistic revolution. This event was the appearance of Paganini in Paris. The wonderful performances of the unique violin virtuoso revealed to him new ideas. He now began to form that pianoforte style which combined, as it were, the excellences of all the other instruments, individually and collectively. Liszt himself called the process "the orchestration of the pianoforte." But before the transformation could be consummated, other influences had to be brought to bear on the architect. The influence of Chopin, who appeared in Paris soon after Paganini, must have been great, but was too subtle and partial to be easily gauged. It is different with Berlioz, whose influence on Liszt was palpable and general, affecting every branch of his art-practice. Thalberg has at least the merit of having by his enormous success in 1836 stimulated Liszt to put forth his whole strength.

"The vast mass of Liszt's pianoforte compositions is divisible first into two classes--the entirely original compositions, and the compositions based to a more or less extent on foreign matter. The latter class consist of transcriptions of songs (Schubert, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Franz, etc.), symphonies and overtures (Berlioz, Beethoven, Rossini, Wagner, etc.), and operatic themes (from Rossini and Bellini to Wagner and Verdi), and of fifteen Hungarian rhapsodies; the former consists of studies, brilliant virtuosic pieces, musical poems, secular and sacred, picturesque, lyrical, etc. (such as Années de Pélerinage, Harmonies, poétiques et religieuses, Consolations, the legends, St. François d'Assise: La Prédication aux oiseaux, and St. François de Paule marchant sur les flots, etc.), and one work in sonata form, but not the conventional sonata form. Although not unfrequently leaving something to be desired in the matter of discretion, his transcriptions of songs are justly famous masterpieces. Marvellous in the reproduction of orchestral effects are the transcriptions of symphonies and overtures. The operatic transcriptions (Illustrations, Fantasies), into which the _geistreiche_ Liszt put a great deal of his own, do not now enjoy the popularity they once enjoyed; the present age has lost some of its love for musical fireworks and the tricking-out and transmogrification by an artist of other artists' ideas. The Hungarian Rhapsodies, on the other hand, which are still more fantasias on the adopted matter than the operatic transcriptions, continue to be favourites of the _virtuosi_ and the public.

"As to the original compositions, they are very unequal in artistic value. Many of them, however, are undoubtedly of the greatest beauty, and stand whatever test may be applied to them. No one would think of numbering with these exquisite perfect things the imposing sonata. It cannot be placed by the side of the sonatas of Beethoven, whose ideal and formative power Liszt lacked. Nevertheless it is impossible for the unprejudiced not to recognise in it a noble effort of a highly-gifted and ardently-striving mind. Technically, instead of three or four self-contained separate movements, we have there a long uninterrupted series of continuous movements, in which, however, we can distinguish three complexes corresponding to the three movements of the orthodox sonata. The Andante Sostenuto and Quasi Adagio form the simpler middle complex. Although some of the features of the orthodox sonata structure are discernible in Liszt's works, most of them are absent from it or irrecognisably veiled. The most novel and characteristic features are the unity and the evolution by metamorphosis of the thematic material--that is to say, the motives of the first complex reappear in the following ones, and are metamorphosed not only in the later but also in the first. Nothing could characterise the inequality of Liszt's compositions better than the fact that it is possible to draw up a programme of them wholly irreproachable, admirable, and delightful, and equally possible to draw up one wholly objectionable, abhorrent, and distressful. All in all, Liszt is a most remarkable and interesting and, at the same time, an epoch-making personality, one that will remain for long yet a living force in music, and for ever a striking figure in the history of the art."

SMETANA

Frederick Smetana, the greatest of Bohemian composers, founded in the year 1848 the institute which he conducted for the teaching of the piano in Prague. In this year it was that the composition for piano named Morceaux Caractéristiques, he dedicated to Liszt (which dedication Liszt accepted with the greatest cordiality, writing him a most complimentary letter), was the means of his becoming personally acquainted with Liszt, whom he until this time only knew by report. He obtained for the young composer an introduction to the publisher Kistner, in Leipsic, who brought out his six piano pieces called Stammbuchblaetter.

RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF

"Of all the Slav composers Rimsky-Korsakoff is perhaps the most charming, and as a musician the most remarkable," writes the music-critic of the _Mercure de France_. "He has not been equalled by any of his compatriots in the art of handling timbres, and in this art the Russian school has been long distinguished. In this respect he is descended directly from Liszt, whose orchestra he adopted and from whom he borrowed many an old effect. His inspiration is sometimes exquisite; the inexhaustible transformation of his themes is always most intelligent or interesting. As all the other Russians, he sins in the development of ideas through the lack of cohesion, of sustained enchainment, and especially through the lack of true polyphony. The influence of Berlioz and of Liszt is not less striking in his manner of composition. Sadko comes from Liszt's Ce qu'on entend sur la montagne, Antar and Scheherazade at the same time from Harold and the Faust symphony. The Oriental monody seems to throw a spell over Rimsky-Korsakoff which spreads over all his works a sort of 'local colour,' underlined here by the chosen subjects. In Scheherazade, it must be said, the benzoin of Arabia sends forth here and there the sickening empyreuma of the pastilles of the harem. In the second and the third movements of Antar the composer has approached nearest true musical superiority. The descriptive, almost dramatic, intention is realised there with an unusual sureness, and, if the brand of Liszt remains ineffaceable, the ease of construction, the breadth and the co-ordinated progressions of combinations mark a mastery and an originality that are rarely found among the composers of the far North, and that no one has ever possessed among the 'five.'

* * * * *

"Chopin's well-known saying in regard to Liszt, when he heard that the latter was going to write a notice of his concert, tells more," says Professor Niecks, "than whole volumes. These are the words: 'Il me donnera un petit royaume dans son empire,' which were said to Ernest Legouvé by Chopin. Now here is another side-light on Chopin and his opinion of the great virtuoso. He is referring to Liszt's notice of some concert, apparently at Cologne. He is amused at the 'fifteen hundred men counted, at the president of the Phil [harmonic] and his carriage, etc.,' and he feels sure that Liszt will 'some day be a deputy, or king of Abyssinia, or of the Congo; his melodies (themes), however, will rest alongside the two volumes of German poetry'--two volumes which did not seem destined, apparently, to achieve immortality."

HIS PORTRAITS

Many artists have immortalised "that profile of ivory." They are, Ingres who was a friend of Liszt, and of whom he always had a tender recollection; in his best days it was Kaulbach and Lenbach. William Kaulbach's portrait is celebrated for the grand look; the chivalrous and fine-gentleman character of the artist is expressed in it in a masterly way. Not less remarkable is a marble bust by the famous Bartolini, souvenir of the master's visit to Florence in 1838. The painter Leyraud shows us Liszt at the time when he took orders. He depicts him as a thin, thoughtful man, leaning against a piano, his arms crossed, and looking at the world from the height of his wisdom. David d'Angers has made a very fine medallion of him. "We have several portraits by Kriehuber, one, among others--Liszt in a travelling cloak--drawn hurriedly while Liszt, surrounded by friends seeing him off, was shaking hands all round. Tilgner sculptured a bust of him two years ago at Vienna; and Baron Joukovsky painted his portrait. Our great Munkàcsy, who beautified the last moments of the master's life, painted him seated at the piano. Boehm, the celebrated Hungarian sculptor, has just made his bust in London. Then we have at Budapest, at the entrance to the opera house, a splendid statue, chiselled by our young artist Strobl. It wants finish, but on the other hand admirably renders Liszt's features and expression. And lastly, we have one by Wolkof, on the stove of a friend of Liszt's," adds Janka Wohl. There are so many more that they defy classification. The Munkàcsy is not attractive, but the sketch made by Ingres at Rome in 1839 is a very happy interpretation of the still youthful virtuoso. The Kriehuber lithograph is a famous study of perennial interest. Then there are the portraits by the American Healey and the Italian Stella, excellent though not master-works. In the Lenbach portrait the eyes look like incandescent grapes.

IX

MODERN PIANOFORTE VIRTUOSI

Artistic pianoforte playing is no longer rare. The once jealously guarded secrets of the masters have become the property of conservatories. Self-playing instruments perform technical miracles, and are valuable inasmuch as they interest a number of persons who would otherwise avoid music as an ineluctable mystery. Furthermore, the unerring ease with which these machines despatch the most appalling difficulties has turned the current toward what is significant in a musical performance: touch, phrasing, interpretation. While a child's hand may set spinning the Don Juan Fantasie of Liszt, no mechanical appliance yet contrived can play a Chopin ballade or the Schumann concerto as they should be played.

I mention purposely these cunning inventions because I do not think that they have harmed the public interest in pianoforte recitals; rather have they stimulated it. Never before has the standard of execution and interpretation been so high. The giant wave of virtuosity that broke over Europe in the middle of the nineteenth century has not yet receded. A new artist on the keyboard is eagerly heard and discussed. If he be a Paderewski or a Joseffy, he is the centre of a huge admiration. The days of Liszt were renewed when Paderewski made his tours in America. Therefore, it is not an exaggeration to say that not until now has good playing been so little of a rarity.

But a hundred years ago matters were different. It was in 1839 that Franz Liszt gave the first genuine pianoforte recital, and, possessing a striking profile, he boldly presented it to his audiences; before that pianists either faced or sat with their backs to the public. No matter what avenue of music the student travels, he will be sure to encounter the figure of Liszt. Yet neither Liszt nor Chopin was without artistic ancestors. That they stemmed from the great central tree of European music; that they at first were swept down the main current, later controlled it, are facts that to-day are the commonplaces of the schools; though a few decades ago those who could see no salvation outside of German music-making, be it never so conventional, failed to recognise the real significance of either Liszt or Chopin. Both men gave Europe new forms, a new harmonic system, and in Liszt's case his originality was so marked that from Wagner to Tschaïkowsky and the Russians, from Cornelius to Richard Strauss, Arnold Schoenberg and the still newer men, all helped themselves at his royal banquet; some, like Wagner, a great genius, taking away all they needed, others glad to catch the very crumbs that fell. But the innovators in form have not always proved supreme creators. In the case of Wagner the plumed and serried phrases of Liszt recall the rôle played by Marlowe in regard to Shakespeare.

Liszt's very power, muscular, compelling, set pianoforte manufacturers to experimenting. A new instrument was literally made for him, an instrument that could thunder like an orchestra, sing like a voice, or whisper like a harp. Liszt could proudly boast, "le piano--c'est moi!" With it he needed no orchestra, no singers, no scenery. It was his stage, and upon its wires he told the stories of the operas, sang the beautiful, and then novel, lieder of Schubert and Schumann, revealed the mastery of Beethoven, the poetry of Chopin, and Bach's magical mathematics. He, too, set Europe ablaze; even Paganini was forgotten, and the gentlemanly Thalberg with his gentlemanly playing suddenly became insipid to true music lovers. Liszt was called a charlatan, and doubtless partially deserved the appellation, in the sense that he very often played for effect's sake, for the sake of dazzling the groundlings. His tone was massive, his touch coloured by a thousand shades of feeling, his technic impeccable, his fire and fury bewildering.

And if Liszt affected his contemporaries, he also trained his successors, Tausig, Von Bülow, and Rubinstein--the latter was never an actual pupil, though he profited by Liszt's advice and regarded him as a model. Karl Tausig, the greatest virtuoso after Liszt and his equal at many points, died prematurely. Never had the world heard such controlled, plastic, and objective interpretations. His iron will had drilled his Slavic temperament so that his playing was, as Joseffy says, "a series of perfectly painted pictures." His technic, according to those who heard him, was perfection. He was the one pianist sans peur et sans reproche. All schools were at his call. Chopin was revived when he played; and he was the first to hail the rising star of Brahms--not critically, as did Schumann, but practically, by putting his name on his eclectic programmes. Mr. Albert Ross Parsons, the well-known New York pianist, critic, and pedagogue, once told the present writer that Tausig's playing evoked the image of some magnificent mountain. "And Joseffy?" was asked--for Joseffy was Tausig's favourite pupil. "The lovely mist that enveloped the mountain at dusk," was Mr. Parsons's happy answer. Since then Joseffy has condensed this mist into something more solid, while remaining quite as beautiful.

Rubinstein I heard play his series of historical recitals, seven in all; better still, I heard him perform the feat twice. I regret that it was not thrice. If ever there was a heaven-storming genius, it was Anton Rubinstein. Nicolas Rubinstein was a wonderful artist; but the fire that flickered and flamed in the playing of Anton was not in evidence in the work of his brother. You felt in listening to Anton that the piece he happened to be playing was heard by you for the first time--the creative element in his nature was so strong. It seemed no longer reproductive art. The same thing has been said of Liszt. Often arbitrary in his very subjective readings, Rubinstein never failed to interest. He had an overpowering sort of magnetism that crossed the stage and enveloped his audience with a gripping power. His touch, to again quote Joseffy, was like that of a French horn. It sang with a mellow thunder. An impressionist in the best sense of that misunderstood expression, he was the reverse of his rival and colleague, Hans von Bülow.

The brother-in-law, à la main gauche, of that Brother of Dragons, Richard Wagner, Von Bülow was hardly appreciated during his first visit to America in 1876-77. Rubinstein had preceded him by three seasons and we were loath to believe that the rather dry, angular touch and clear-cut phrasing of the little, irritable Hans were revelations from on high. Nevertheless, Von Bülow, the mighty scholar, opened new views for us by his Beethoven and Bach playing. The analyst in him ruled. Not a colourist, but a master of black and white, he exposed the minutest meanings of the composer that he presented. He was the first to introduce Tschaïkowsky's brilliant and clangorous B-flat minor concerto. Of his Chopin performances, I retain only the memory of the D-flat Nocturne. That was exquisite, and all the more surprising coming from a man of Von Bülow's pedantic nature. His last visit to this country, several decades ago, was better appreciated, but I found his playing almost insupportable. He had withered in tone and style, a mummy of his former alert self.

The latter-day generation of virtuosi owe as much to Liszt as did the famous trinity, Tausig, Rubinstein, Von Bülow. Many of them studied with the old wizard at Rome, Budapest, and Weimar; some with his pupils; all have absorbed his traditions. It would be as impossible to keep Liszt out of your playing--out of your fingers, forearms, biceps, and triceps,--as it would be to return to the naïve manner of an Emmanuel Bach or a Scarlatti. Modern pianoforte-playing spells Liszt.

After Von Bülow a much more naturally gifted pianist visited the United States, Rafael Joseffy. It was in 1879 that old Chickering Hall witnessed his triumph, a triumph many times repeated later in Steinway Hall, Carnegie Hall, the Metropolitan Opera House, and throughout America. At first Joseffy was called the Patti of the Pianoforte, one of those facile, alliterative, meaningless titles he never merited. He had the coloratura, if you will, of a Patti, but he had something besides--brains and a poetic temperament. Poetic is a vague term that usually covers a weakness in technic. There are different sorts of poetry. There is the rich poetry of Paderewski, the antic grace and delicious poetry of De Pachmann. The Joseffian poetry is something else. Its quality is more subtle, more recondite than the poetry of the Polish or the Russian pianist. Such miraculous finish, such crystalline tone had never before been heard until Joseffy appeared. At first his playing was the purest pantheism--a transfigured materialism, tone, and technic raised to heights undreamed of. Years later a new Joseffy was born. Stern self-discipline, as was the case with Tausig, had won a victory over his temperament as well as his fingers. More restrained, less lush, his play is now ruled by the keenest of intellects, while the old silvery and sensuous charm has not vanished. Some refused to accept the change. They did not realise that for an artist to remain stationary is decadence. They longed for graceful trifling, for rose-coloured patterns, for swallow-like flights across the keyboard, by a pair of the most beautiful piano hands since Tausig's. In a word, these people did not care for Brahms and they did care very much for the Chopin Valse in double notes. But the automatic piano has outpointed every virtuoso except Rosenthal in the matter of mere technic. So we enjoy our Brahms from Joseffy, and when he plays Liszt or Chopin, which he does in an ideal style, far removed from the tumultuous thumpings of the average virtuoso, we turn out in numbers to enjoy and applaud him. His music has that indefinable quality which vibrates from a Stradivarius violin. His touch is like no other in the world, and his readings of the classics are marked by reverence and authority. In certain Chopin numbers, such as the Berçeuse, the F-minor ballade, the barcarolle, and the E-minor concerto, he has no peer. Equally lucid and lovely are his performances of the B-flat major Brahms concerto and the A-major concerto of Liszt. Joseffy is unique.

There was an interregnum in the pianoforte arena for a few years. Joseffy was reported as having been discovered in the wilds above Tarrytown playing two-voiced inventions of Bach, and writing a new piano school. Arthur Friedheim appeared and dazzled us with the B-minor Sonata of Liszt. It was a wonder-breeding, thrilling performance. Alfred Grünfeld, of Vienna, caracoled across the keys in an amiably dashing style. Rummel played earnestly. Ansorge also played earnestly. Edmund Neupert delivered Grieg's Concerto as no one before or since has done. Pugno came from Paris, Rosenthal thundered; Sauer, Stavenhagen, Siloti, Slivinski, Mark Hambourg, Burmeister, Hyllested, Faelten, Sherwood, Godowsky, Gabrilowitsch, Vogrich, Von Sternberg, Jarvis, Richard Hoffmann, Boscovitz--to go back some years; Alexander Lambert, August Spanuth, Klahre, Lamond, Dohnanyi, Busoni, Baerman, Saint-Saëns, Stojowski, Lhévinne, Rudolph Ganz, MacDowell, Otto Hegner, Josef Hofmann, Reisenauer--none of these artists ever aroused such excitement as Paderewski, though a more captivating and brilliant Liszt player than Alfred Reisenauer has been seldom heard.

It was about 1891 that I attended a rehearsal at Carnegie Hall in which participated Ignace Jan Paderewski. The C-minor concerto of Saint-Saëns, an effective though musically empty work, was played. There is nothing in the composition that will test a good pianist; but Paderewski made much of the music. His tone was noble, his technic adequate, his single-finger touch singing. Above all, there was a romantic temperament exposed; not morbid but robust. His strange appearance, the golden aureoled head, the shy attitude, were rather puzzling to public and critic at his début. Not too much enthusiasm was exhibited during the concert or next morning in the newspapers. But the second performance settled the question. A great artist was revealed. His diffidence melted in the heat of frantic applause. He played the Schumann concerto, the F-minor concerto of Chopin, many other concertos, all of Chopin's music, much of Schumann, Beethoven, and Liszt. His recitals, first given in the concert hall of Madison Square Garden, so expanded in attendance that he moved to Carnegie Hall. There, with only his piano, Paderewski repeated the Liszt miracle. And year after year. Never in America has a public proved so insatiable in its desire to hear a virtuoso. It is the same from New Orleans to Seattle. Everywhere crowded halls, immense enthusiasms. Now to set all this down to an exotic personality, to occult magnetism, to sensationalism, would be unfair to Paderewski and to the critical discrimination of his audiences. Many have gone to gaze upon him, but they remained to listen. His solid attainments as a musician, his clear, elevated style, his voluptuous, caressing touch, his sometimes exaggerated sentiment, his brilliancy, endurance, and dreamy poetry--these qualities are real, not imaginary.

No more luscious touch has been heard since Rubinstein's. Paderewski often lets his singing fingers linger on a phrase; but as few pianists alive, he can spin his tone, and so his yielding to the temptation is a natural one. He is intellectual and his readings of the classics are sane. Of poetic temperament, he is at his best in Chopin, not Beethoven. Eclectic is the best word to apply to his interpretations. He plays programmes from Bach to Liszt with commendable fidelity and versatility. He has the power of rousing his audience from a state of calm indifference to wildest frenzy. How does he accomplish this? He has not the technic of Rosenthal, nor that pianist's brilliancy and power; he is not as subtle as Joseffy, nor yet as plastic in his play; the morbid witchery of De Pachmann is not his; yet no one since Rubinstein--in America at least--can create such climaxes of enthusiasm. Deny this or that quality to Paderewski; go and with your own ears and eyes hear and witness what we all have heard and witnessed.

I once wrote a story in which a pianist figured as a mesmeriser. He sat at his instrument in a crowded, silent hall and worked his magic upon the multitude. The scene modulates into madness. People are transported. And in all the rumour and storm, the master sits at the keyboard but does _not_ play. I assure you I have been at Paderewski recitals where my judgments were in abeyance, where my individuality was merged in that of the mob, where I sat and wondered if I really _heard_; or was Paderewski only going through the motions and not actually touching the keys? His is a static as well as a dramatic art. The tone wells up from the instrument, is not struck. It floats languorously in the air, it seems to pause, transfixed in the air. The Sarmatian melancholy of Paderewski, his deep sensibility, his noble nature, are translated into the music. Then with a smashing chord he sets us, the prisoners of his tonal circle, free. Is this the art of a hypnotiser? No one has so mastered the trick, if trick it be.

But he is not all moonshine. The truth is, Paderewski has a tone not as large as mellow. His fortissimo chords have hitherto lacked the foundational power and splendour of d'Albert's, Busoni's, and Rosenthal's. His transition from piano to forte is his best range, not the extremes at either end of the dynamic scale. A healthy, sunny tone it is at its best, very warm in colour. In certain things of Chopin he is unapproachable. He plays the F-minor concerto and the E-flat minor scherzo--from the second Sonata--beautifully, and if he is not so convincing in the Beethoven sonatas, his interpretation of the E-flat Emperor concerto is surprisingly free from morbidezza; it is direct, manly, and musical. His technic has gained since his advent in New York. This he proved by the way he juggled with the Brahms-Paganini variations; though they are still the property of Moritz Rosenthal. He is more interesting than most pianists because he is more musical; he has more personal charm; there is the feeling when you hear him that he is a complete man, a harmonious artist, and this feeling is very compelling.

The tricky elf that rocked the cradle of Vladimir de Pachmann--a Russian virtuoso, born in Odessa (1848), of a Jewish father and a Turkish mother (he once said to me, "My father is a Cantor, my mother a Turkey")--must have enjoyed--not without a certain malicious peep at the future--the idea of how much worriment and sorrow it would cause the plump little black-haired baby when he grew up and played the pianoforte like the imp of genius he is. It is nearly seventeen years since he paid his first visit to us. His success, as in London, was achieved after one recital. Such an exquisite touch, subtlety of phrasing, and a technic that failed only in broad, dynamic effects, had never before been noted. Yet De Pachmann is in reality the product of an old-fashioned school. He belongs to the Hummel-Cramer group, which developed a pure finger technic and a charming euphony, but neglected the dramatic side of delivery. Tone for tone's sake; absolute finesse in every figure; scales that are as hot pearls on velvet; a perfect trill; a cantilena like the voice; these, and repose of style, are the shibboleth of a tradition that was best embodied in Thalberg--plus more tonal power in Thalberg's case. Subjectivity enters largely in this combination, for De Pachmann is "modern," neurotic. His presentation of some Chopin is positively morbid. He is, despite his marked restrictions of physique and mentality, a Chopin player par excellence. His fingers strike the keys like tiny sweet mallets. His scale passages are liquid, his octave playing marvellous, but en miniature--like everything he attempts. To hear him in a Chopin polonaise is to realise his limitations. But in the larghetto of the F-minor concerto, in the nocturnes and preludes--not of course the big one in D minor--études, valses, ah! there is then but one De Pachmann. He can be poetic and capricious and elfish in the mazurkas; indeed, it has been conceded that he is the master-interpreter of these soul-dances. The volume of tone that he draws from his instrument is not large, but it is of a distinguished quality and very musical. He has paws of velvet, and no matter what the difficulty, he overcomes it without an effort. I once called him the _pianissimist_ because of his special gift for filing tones to a whisper. His pianissimo begins where other pianists end theirs. Enchanting is the effect when he murmurs in such studies as the F minor of Chopin and the Concert study of Liszt of the same tonality; or in mounting unisons as he breathlessly weaves the wind through the last movement of Chopin's B-flat minor sonata. Less edifying are De Pachmann's mannerisms. They are only tolerated because of his exotic, lovely, and disquieting music.

Of a different and a gigantic mould is the playing of Moritz Rosenthal. He is a native of Lemberg, in Galician Poland, a city that has held among other artists, Marcella Sembrich and Carl Mikuli, a pupil of Chopin and editor of an edition of his works. When a mere child, twelve years or so, Moritz walked from Lemberg to Vienna to study with Joseffy. Even at that age he had the iron will of a superman. He played for Joseffy the E-minor concerto of Chopin, the same work with which the youthful Joseffy years before had won the heart of Tausig. Setting aside Tausig--and this is only hearsay--the world of "pianism" has never matched Rosenthal for speed, power, endurance; nor is this all. He is both musical and intellectual. He is a doctor of philosophy, a bachelor of arts. He has read everything, is a linguist, has travelled the globe over, and in conversation his unerring memory and brilliant wit set him as a man apart. To top all these gifts, he plays his instrument magnificently, overwhelmingly. He is the Napoleon, the conqueror among virtuosi. His tone is very sonorous, his touch singing, and he commands the entire range of nuance from the rippling fioritura of the Chopin barcarolle to the cannon-like thunderings of the A-flat polonaise. His octaves and chords baffle all critical experience and appraisement. As others play presto in single notes, so he dashes off double notes, thirds, sixths, and octaves. His Don Juan fantaisie, part Liszt, part Mozart, is entirely Rosenthalian in performance. He has composed at his polyphonic forge a Humoreske. Its interweaving of voices, their independence, the caprice and audacity of it all are astounding. Tausig had such a technic; yet surely Tausig had not the brazen, thunderous climaxes of this broad-shouldered young man! He is the epitome of the orchestra and in a tonal duel with the orchestra he has never been worsted. His interpretations of the classics, of the romantics, are of a superior order. He played the last sonatas of Beethoven or the Schumann Carneval with equal discrimination. His touch is crystal-like in its clearness, therefore his tone lacks the sensuousness of Paderewski and De Pachmann. But it is a mistake to set him down as a mere unemotional mechanician. He is in reality a Superman among pianists.

Eugen d'Albert has played in America several times, the first time in company with Sarasate, the Spanish violin virtuoso. Liszt called d'Albert, of whom he was very fond, the "second Tausig." The Weimar master declared that the little Eugen looked like, played like, his former favourite, Karl Tausig. In his youth d'Albert was as impetuous as a thunderbolt; now he is more reflective than fiery, and he is often careless in his technical work. Another pianist who has followed the lure of composition; but a great virtuoso, a great interpreter of the classics. His music suggests a close study of Brahms, and in his piano concertos he is both Brahmsian and Lisztian.

The first time I heard Saint-Saëns was in Paris the year 1878. He played at the Trocadero palace--it was the Exposition year--his clever variations on a Beethoven theme for two pianos, Madame Montigny-Remaury being his colleague. In 1896 I attended the fiftieth anniversary of his first public appearance. The affair took place at a piano hall in Paris. And several years ago I heard the veteran, full of years and honours, in New York. He had changed but little. The same supple style, siccant touch, and technical mastery were present. Not so polished as Planté, so fiery--or so noisy--as Pugno, Saint-Saëns is a greater musician than either at the keyboard. His playing is Gallic--which means it is never sultry, emotional, and seldom poetic. The French pianists make for clearness, delicacy, symmetry; France never produced a Rubinstein, nor does she cordially admire such volcanic artists.

Ossip Gabrilowitsch has been for me always a sympathetic pianist. He has improved measurably since his previous visits here. The poet and the student still preponderate in his work; he is more reflective than dramatic, though the fiery Slav in him often peeps out, and if he does not "drive the horses of Rubinstein," as Oscar Bie once wrote, he is a virtuoso of high rank. The Bie phrase could be better applied to Mark Hambourg, who sometimes is like a full-blooded runaway horse with the bit between its teeth. Hambourg has Slavic blood in his veins and it courses hotly. He is an attractive player, a younger Tausig--before Tausig taught himself the value of repose and restraint. Recklessly Hambourg attacks the instrument in a sort of Rubinsteinian fury. Of late he has, it is said, learned the lesson of self-control. His polyphony is clearer, his tone, always big, is more sonorous and individual. It was the veteran Dr. William Mason who predicted Hambourg's future. Exuberance and excess of power may be diverted into musical channels--and these Mark Hambourg has. It is not so easy to reverse the process and build up a temperament where little naturally exists.

Josef Hofmann, from a wonder child who influenced two continents, has developed into an artist who has attained perfection--a somewhat cool perfection, it may be admitted. But what a well-balanced touch, what a broad, euphonious tone, what care in building climaxes or shading his tone to mellifluous whisper! Musically he is impregnable. His readings are free from extravagances, his bearing dignified, and if we miss the dramatic element in his play we are consoled by the easy sweep, the intellectual grasp, and the positively pleasure-giving quality of his touch. Eclectic in style, Hofmann is the "young-old" master of the pianoforte. And he is Polish in everything but Chopin. But well-bred! Perhaps Rubinstein was right when he said, so is the report--at Dresden, "Jozio will never have to change his shirt at a recital as I did."

Harold Bauer is a great favourite in America as well as in Paris. He has a quiet magnetism, a mastery of technical resources, backed by sound musicianship. He was a violinist before he became a pianist; this fact may account for his rich tone-quality--Bauer could even make an old-fashioned "square" pianoforte discourse eloquently. He, too, is an eclectic; all schools appeal to him and his range is from Bach to Cæsar Franck, both of whom he interprets with reverence and authority. Bauer played Liszt's Dance of Death in this country, creating thereby a reputation for brilliant "pianism." The new men, Lhévinne, Ganz, Scriabine, Stojowski, are forging ahead, especially the first two, who are virtuoso artists. The young Swiss, Ganz, is a very attractive artist, apart from his technical attainments; he is musical, and that is two-thirds of the battle. Two men who once resided in America, Ferrucio Busoni and Leopold Godowsky, went abroad and conquered Europe. Busoni is called the master-interpreter of Bach and Liszt; the master-miniaturist is the title bestowed upon the miracle-working Godowsky, whose velvety touch and sensitive style have been better appreciated in Europe than America.

The fair unfair sex has not lacked in representative piano artists. Apart from the million girls busily engaged in manipulating pedals, slaying music and sleep at one fell moment, there is a band of keyboard devotees that has earned fame and fortune, and an honourable place in the Walhalla of pianoforte playing. The modern female pianist does not greatly vary from her male rival except in muscular power, and even in that Sofie Menter and Teresa Carreño have vied with their ruder brethren. Pianists in petticoats go back as far as Nanette Streicher and come down to Paula Szalit, a girl who, it is said, improvises fugues. Marie Pleyel, Madame de Szymanowska--Goethe's friend at Marienbad, in 1822--Clara Schumann, Arabella Goddard, Sofie Menter, Annette Essipoff--once Paderewski's adviser, and a former wife of Leschetitzky; Marie Krebs, Ingeborg Bronsart, Aline Hundt, Fannie Davies, Madeliene Schiller, Julia Rivé-King, Helen Hopekirk, Nathalie Janotha, Adele Margulies, the Douste Sisters, Amy Fay, Dory Petersen, Cecilia Gaul, Madame Paur, Madame Lhévinne, Antoinette Szumowska, Adele Aus der Ohe, Cécile Chaminade, Madame Montigny-Remaury, Madame Roger-Miclos, Marie Torhilon-Buell, Augusta Cottlow, Mrs. Arthur Friedheim, Laura Danzinger Rosebault, Olga Samaroff, Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler--these are a few well-known names before the public during the past and in the present.

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_.

An exhaustive list of the compositions has yet to be made, though Göllerich in his Franz Liszt consumes fifty-five pages in enumerating the works--compiled from Lina Ramann, Breitkopf and Härtel, and Busoni--some of which never saw the light of publication; such as the opera Don Sancho, the Revolutionary Symphony, _etcetera_; when Breitkopf and Härtel finish their cataloguing no doubt the result will be more satisfactory. The fact is that out of the known 1,300 compositions, only 400 are original and of these latter how many are worth remembering? Liszt wrote too much and too often for money. His best efforts will survive, of course; but I do not see the use of making a record of ephemeral pot-boilers. It is the same with the bibliography. I give the sources whenever I can of my information; impossible, however, is it to credit the authorship of all the flotsam and jetsam. Kapp in his ponderous biography actually devotes twenty-seven pages to the books, magazines, and newspapers which have dealt with the theme, though even his Teutonic industry has not rendered flawless his drag-net.

Liszt was the most caricatured man in Europe save Wagner and Louis Napoleon, and he was painted, sculptured, and photographed oftener than any operatic or circus celebrity who ever sang or swung in the break-neck trapeze. Naturally the choice of illustrations for this study was narrowed down to a few types, with here and there a novelty (dug up from some ancient album); yet sufficient to reveal Liszt as boy, youth, man; fascinating, dazzling, enigmatic artist, comedian, abbé, rhapsodist, but ever the great-souled Franz Liszt.

J. H.

INDEX

Acton, Lord, 14.

Adam, Madame Edmond. (See Juliette Lamber.)

Adelaide (Beethoven's), 216.

Albano, 79.

Aldega, Professor, 381.

Aldrich, Richard, 195.

Alkan, 63, 408.

Allegri, 84.

Allmers, W., 79.

Altenburg, The (Liszt's house at Weimar), 21, 24, 47, 48, 53, 261, 362, 389.

Amalia, Anna, 328.

Amalie Caroline, Princess of Hesse, 198.

Amiel, 64.

Andersen, Hans Christian, account of a Liszt concert, 230-234.

Anfossi, 80.

Ansorge, Conrad (pupil), 98, 332, 425.

Antonelli, Cardinal, 22, 49, 50.

Apel, Frau Pauline (Liszt's housekeeper), 327.

"Après une lecture de Dante" (Hugo), 152.

Apthorp, W. F., 172, 173; analysis of the Concerto in A major, 173, 174.

Arnim, Countess Bettina von, 42, 43, 261; Graf von, 89, 261.

Auber, 172, 204, 281.

Auerbach, Berthold, 139.

Aufforderung zum Tanz (Weber), 93, 205, 207, 253.

Augener & Company, 181.

August, Karl, 328.

"Aus der Glanzzeit der Weimaren Altenburg" (La Mara), 44.

Aus der Ohe, Adèle (pupil), 24, 436.

Austen, Jane, 436.

Ave Maria (Schubert's), 216.

Bach, 32, 62, 185, 375, 381, 425, 435; Chevalier Leonard E., 312.

Bache, Walter (pupil), 196, 312, 384-386.

Bachez, 226.

Baerman, 425.

Bagby, Albert Morris (pupil), 370.

Baillot, 204, 209.

Bakounine, 38.

Ballads (Chopin), 186, 399, 424.

Ballanche, 78.

Balzac, 26, 39.

Barber of Bagdad (Cornelius), 48.

Barcarolle (Chopin), 424, 431.

Barna, Michael, 198, 199.

Barnett, J. F., 385.

Barry, C. A., 127, 139.

Bartolini, 416.

Baudelaire, 19.

Bauer, Caroline, Reminiscences of, 241-244; Harold, 174, 435.

Beale, Frederick, 308; Willert, 308.

"Béatrix" (Balzac), 39.

Beato, Fra, 84.

Beethoven, 4, 5, 6, 10, 13, 30, 31, 32, 52, 54, 55, 62, 67, 84, 105, 115, 120, 160, 171, 179, 185, 186, 202, 204, 210, 217, 281, 375, 381, 408, 409, 411, 413, 420, 432; festival at Bonn, 225, 376; his piano, 262, 339; statue of, unveiled, 226.

"Beethoven et Ses Trois Styles" (von Lenz), 201.

Belgiojoso, Princess Cristina, 8, 14, 16, 42, 82, 286.

Belloni, 213, 237.

Bendix, Max, 66.

Benedict, Julius, 283, 284.

Berceuse (Chopin), 186, 424.

Bergerat, Emile, 320.

Beringer, Oscar, 376, 377.

Berlioz, 5, 6, 8, 10, 17, 19, 20, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 36, 47, 53, 55, 64, 67, 82, 85, 105, 145, 155, 157, 158, 169, 171, 183, 186, 193, 200, 204, 258, 259, 282, 300, 337, 411, 415; account of his friendship with Liszt, 210-217; letter to Liszt, 215-217.

Berne, 81.

Berta, 91.

Bethmann, Simon Maritz, 15.

Bie, Oscar, 433.

Bielgorsky, Count, 294, 296, 297.

Birmingham Musical Festival, 195.

Bishop, Sir Henry, 307.

Bismarck, 179.

Bizet, 378-380.

_Blackwood's Magazine_, 304.

Blaze de Bury, Baron, article on Liszt, 218, 219.

Blessington, Countess of, 252.

Bocella, 165.

Bock, Anna, 276.

Borodin, 24, 27.

Boscovitz, 425.

Bösendorfer, 171.

Bossuet, 26.

Bourget, Paul, 141.

Bovary, Emma, 16.

Brahm, Otto, 332.

Brahms, 9, 19, 53, 57, 153, 185, 187, 375, 405, 408, 421, 424, 425, 433. Brandes, Georg, 5.

Breidenstein, Professor, 226.

Breithaupt, Rudolf, 402.

Breitkopf and Härtel, 94, 197, 408.

Brendel, Franz (pupil), 194.

Breughel, 28.

"Briefe und Schriften" (von Bülow), 179.

Bright, John, 11.

Broadwood piano, 339.

Bronsart, Hans von (pupil), 172; Ingeborg von, 401, 436.

Bulgarin, 124.

Bülow, Daniela von, 279; Hans von (Liszt's favorite pupil), 15, 19, 21, 45, 93, 96, 101, 136-138, 168, 176, 177, 179, 228, 229, 362, 402, 420, 422, 423; Appreciation of Die Ideale, 136; Criticism of, 398, 400.

Bunsen, Von, 83.

Burmeister, Richard (pupil), 24, 52, 177, 178, 340, 359, 425.

Burne-Jones, 18.

Busoni, Ferrucio, 402, 408, 425, 428, 435.

Byron, 11, 16, 34, 115, 124, 398.

Cabaner, 29.

Callot, 28.

Calvocoressi, 56.

Campo Santo of Pisa, 175.

Canterbury, Lord, 252.

Carolsfield, J. Schnorr von, 79.

Carreño, Teresa, 402, 436, 437.

Casanova, 34.

Catarani, Cardinal, 49.

Catel, 89.

Cezano, Marquise. (See Olga Janina.)

Chamber music, 195.

Chaminade, Cécile, 436.

Chantavoine, Jean, 56.

Charpentier, 10.

Chateaubriand, 11, 26, 29, 43, 64.

Chelard, 226.

Cherubini, 204.

Chopin, Frédéric François, 4, 5, 6, 7, 12, 14, 15, 17, 19, 26, 29, 38, 39, 40, 43, 59, 60, 63, 73-77, 145, 186, 201, 204, 238, 282, 287, 288, 300, 308, 328, 367, 372, 375, 381, 405, 408, 415, 416, 418, 419.

Chorley, 225, 228, 252.

Christophe, Jean; description of Liszt, 2.

Church music, 187, 188, 190, 193, 194.

Cimarosa, 80.

Circourt, Madame de, 319, 320.

Clementi, 62, 302.

Coblentz, Tribute from citizens of, 244.

Cognetti, Mademoiselle, 98.

Collin, Von, 115.

Cologne, cathedral at, 248.

Colpach (Munkaçzy's castle in Luxemburg), 25, 44, 280.

Commettant, Oscar, satirical sketch of, 219, 220.

Concerto (Bach), 293.

Concerto (Beethoven), 202.

Concerto (Chopin), 396, 424, 426, 428, 430.

Concerto (Tschaikowsky), 422.

Concertstück (Weber's), 212, 219, 288, 293.

Consalvi, Cardinal, 79.

Constant, Benjamin, 11.

"Conversation on Music" (Rubinstein), 156.

Coriolanus (Beethoven's), 115.

Cornelius, Peter (pupil), 19, 22, 27, 28, 83, 89, 139, 165, 260, 362, 419.

Correggio, 28.

_Correspondent, The_, 210.

Cosima von Bülow Wagner, 15, 20, 23, 25, 44, 49, 58, 93, 96, 101, 141, 228.

Cottlow, Augusta, 436.

Coutts, Baroness Burdett, 312.

Craig, Gordon, 332.

Cramer, J. B., 62, 184, 225, 302.

Crux Fidelis (choral), 133.

Crystal Palace, London, 139.

Cymbal effects in piano-playing, 161.

Czaky, Archbishop of, 200.

Czerny, Carl, 13, 72, 73, 182, 184, 302, 308, 317, 406.

Czinka, Pauna, a gypsy girl, 199.

D'Agoult, Comte Charles, 15; Countess (Marie Sophie de Flarigny), 3, 14, 15, 25, 37, 39-41, 43, 80, 85, 86, 87, 246, 247, 259, 391.

D'Albert, Eugen (pupil), 24, 174, 359, 370, 372, 402, 428, 432.

Damnation de Faust (Berlioz), 199.

Damrosch, Leopold (pupil), 118, 138, 139, 174, 197.

D'Angers, David, 416.

Dannreuther, 20, 152, 181, 191, 193.

Dante, 8, 147-152, 155; gallery (Rome), 382.

Danton, 220, 221.

Danube flood, 81.

Danzinger-Rosebault, Laura, 436.

Davies, Fannie, 436.

Da Vinci, 28.

_Debats, The_, 211.

De Beriot, 283.

Debussy, 10, 31.

Dehmel, Richard, 332.

Delacroix, 5.

Delaroche, 16, 28.

De Musset, 39.

De Pachmann, Vladimir, 24, 61, 423, 427, 429-431, 432.

De Quincy, 27.

Devrient, Ludwig, 139.

Dictionary of Musicians, 385.

Dietrichstein, Prince, 359.

Dilke, Wentworth, 228.

Dinglested, 48.

Diorama, The, 152.

Dobrjan (Liszt's birthplace). (See Raiding.)

Doehler, 17.

Dohnanyi, 425.

Don Carlos, 241.

Donizetti, 63, 86.

Doppler, Franz, 158.

Doré, Gustave, 28.

D'Ortigue on Liszt, 217, 218.

Douste sisters, 436.

Draeseke, 21.

Dukas, 10.

Du Plessis, Marie, 19.

Dupré, Jules, 11.

Dwight, John S. (Boston musical critic), interview with Liszt, 228, 229.

Eckermann, 64.

Edict of Louis XII, 80.

"L'Education Sentimentale" (Flaubert), 26.

Ehlert, Louis, 17, 363.

El Greco, 28.

Eliot, George, 43, 47, 53, 436; Weimar recollections of, 258.

Ellet, Mrs., account of a Liszt concert in Cologne, 248, 249.

Ellis, Havelock, 12

Enfantin, Père Prosper, 14.

Eperjes, 198.

Erard piano, 59, 301, 318, 323.

Ernani, 258.

Ernst, Paul, 332.

Escudier, Leon, description of Danton's statuette of Liszt, 220, 221; incident at one of Henri Herz's concerts, 221, 222.

Essipoff, Annette, 436, 437.

Essler, Fanny, 235.

Esterhazy, Prince, 304; estates, 12.

Etruscan Museum, 83.

_Etude, The_, 381.

Etudes (Chopin), 75.

Euryanthe, Overture to, 181.

Faelten, 425.

Fallersleben, Hoffmann von (lyric poet), 165, 260.

Fantasia (Bach), 383.

Fantasia (Schumann), 57.

Faure, 281.

Faust (Lenau's), 71.

Faust Ouverture, Eine (Wagner's), 143.

Fay, Amy, 38, 436.

Feodorovna, Empress Alexandra, 295.

Fétis and Moscheles, 185.

Feuerbach, 89.

Fichtner, Pauline, 24.

Field, 368.

_Figaro, The_ (London), 384.

Finck, Henry T., 165, 179, 194, 196, 314.

Fischer, Signor, 345; Wilhelm, 147.

Fischof, 226.

Flaubert, Gustave, 16, 26.

Flavigny, Vicomte de, 15.

Foyatier, 18.

Francia, 84.

Francis Joseph, king of Hungary, 96.

Franck, Caesar, 435.

Franz, Robert, 19, 66, 229, 411.

Frederic (piano tuner), 287.

"Frederick Chopin" (Niecks), 74.

_Freemason's Journal, The_, 389.

Freischütz (Weber's), 205, 214.

Friedheim, Arthur (pupil), 24, 70, 359, 368-373, 425. Mrs. Arthur, 436.

Gabrilowitsch, Ossip, 425, 433.

Galitsin, Prince (governor-general of Moscow), 294.

Galleria Dantesca, 102.

Garcia, Viardot, 388.

Garibaldi, 89.

Gaul, Cecilia, 276, 436.

Gautier, Judith, 17; Marguerite, 40; Théophile, 5, 11.

Gauz, Rudolph, 425, 435.

_Gazette Musicale_ (Paris), 77, 179, 193, 287, 288.

Geneva, 15, 81.

Genoa, 81.

George IV, 304.

Gericke (conductor), 147, 151.

Gervais, 359.

Gille, 21.

Gillet, 281.

Giocati-Buonaventi, A., 390.

Giorgione, 28.

Glinka, 297, 298.

Gluck, 30, 84.

Goddard, Arabella, 436.

Godowsky, Leopold, 402, 425, 435, 437.

Goethe, 9, 11, 15, 19, 22, 34, 43, 47, 64, 78, 84, 85, 88, 89, 113, 145, 146, 155, 165, 167, 196, 211, 223, 279, 328, 329, 330, 436; foundation, 48.

Goethe-Schiller monument, unveiling of, 133.

Göllerich, August (pupil and biographer), 44, 49, 55, 57, 58, 98, 118, 359.

Goncourt, 26.

Gott, Joseph, 381.

Gottschalg, A. W. (pupil), 21, 56; "Franz Liszt in Weimar," 358.

Gounod, 217.

Gradus (Clementi), 59.

Gräfe, 280.

Gran (Hungary), Basilica at, 188.

Gregorovius, 78, 79, 88, 89, 91, 93, 98, 102.

Gregory VII, 56; XIV, 83.

Grieg, Eduard, 24, 425; piano concerto, 313-316.

Grove, Sir George, 385.

Grünfeld, Alfred, 425.

Grünwald, Matthew, 28.

Guido of Arezzo, 73.

Gumprecht, 29.

Habeneck (conductor), 204.

Hackett, Francis, 14.

Hagn, Charlotte von, 42.

Hahn, Arthur, 112.

Hähnel, Professor, 226.

Hale, Philip, 5, 66, 127, 135, 151, 171, 174, 320.

Halévy, 204, 378.

Hall, Walter (conductor), 192.

Hambourg, Mark, 425, 434.

Handel, 31, 120, 304, 381.

Handley, Mrs., 319.

Hanslick, Eduard, 53, 139, 171.

Harold, 106.

Harmonic system, 419.

Hauptmann, 385.

Hayden, 10.

Haydn, Joseph, 12, 31, 84, 105, 142, 160, 172, 409.

Healey, 417.

Hegel, 233.

Hegner, Otto, 425.

Heine, 9, 11, 17, 124, 165; reminiscences of Liszt, 234-241.

Helbig, Madame Nadine (Princess Nadine Schakovskoy) (pupil), 42, 102.

Henderson, W. J., 192; on the St. Elisabeth Legend, 192, 193.

Henselt, 209.

Herder, Jonathan Gottfried, 130, 328.

Hermann, Carl (pupil), 276.

Herwegh, George, 235.

Herz, Henry, 17, 65, 221, 222, 308.

Herz-Parisian school, 59.

Hill, Edward Burlingame, 381.

Hiller, Ferdinand, 3, 35, 53, 293, 320.

History of Charles XII (Voltaire), 124; of the French Revolution (François Mignet), 14.

Hoffman, Richard, 425; recollections of Liszt, 316-318.

Hofgärtnerei, The (Liszt's residence in Weimar), 23, 58, 389.

Hofmann, Josef, 425, 434.

Hohenlohe, Cardinal Prince, 22, 93, 94, 97.

Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, Prince, 48.

Hopekirk, Helen, 436.

Hotel d'Alibert (Liszt's residence in Rome), 98, 340.

"Hour Passed with Liszt, An" (By B. W. H.), 275-279.

Hueffer, Dr., 166.

Hugo, Victor, 5, 108, 124, 152, 165, 204.

Huguenots (Meyerbeer's), 145.

Humboldt, 48, 78.

Hummel, J. N., 12, 13, 73, 202, 224; concerto, 304, 317.

Hundt, Aline, 436.

Hungarian Diet, debate in, 200; Museum (Budapest), 338.

Hyllested, 425.

Ideale, Die (Schiller), 133, 134.

Idealism, 59.

Ibsen, 71.

"Inchape Bell" (Parry), 310.

Ingres, Jean Auguste Dominique, 83, 84, 416, 417.

Irving, Henry, 32.

Ivanowski, Peter von (father of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), 45.

James, Henry, 27, 141.

Janin, Jules, 40, 228.

Janina, Olga (pupil), 41.

Janko keyboard, 437.

Janotha, Nathalie, 436.

Jarvis, 425.

Jensen, Adolf, 363.

Joachim, Joseph (pupil), 3, 19, 53, 57, 358.

Joseffy, Rafael (pupil), 24, 57, 63, 66, 374-376, 418, 421, 425, 427, 431.

Jonkovsky, Baron, 417.

Kahrer, Laura, 24.

Kalkbrenner, 17, 65, 201, 202, 204, 205-207, 302.

Kapellmeister, 21.

Kapp, Julius, 55, 56, 57.

Karlsruhe (music festival at), 93.

Kaulbach, Wilhelm von, 9, 28, 84, 132, 416.

Kemble, Fanny, 244; impression of Liszt, 245.

Kennedy, Mgr., 343, 344.

Kessler, Count, 332.

Kieff, 45.

Kindworth, Karl (pupil), 362, 403.

Kirkenbuhl, Karl, extracts from his "Federzeichnungen aus Rom," 267-275. Kissingen, 280.

Kistner (Leipsic publisher), 414.

Klahre, Edwin (pupil), 425.

Kleinmichael's piano score, 142.

Klindworth, Agnes Street, 42.

Klinger, Max, 331, 334.

Klinkerfuss, Johanna, 24.

Kloss, George, 389.

Kohler, Louis (pupil), 138.

Kovacs, 338.

Kovalensky, Sonia, 437.

Kraftmayr (Von Wolzogen), 57.

Krebs, Marie, 436.

Krehbiel, H. E., 10.

Kremlin, 29.

Kriehuber, 417.

Krockow, Countess, 363.

Kullak, 383.

La Mara (Marie Lipsius) (pupil), 35, 39, 41, 44, 49.

Lamartine, 9, 204, 398.

Lamb, Charles, 30.

Lamber, Juliette, criticism of George Sand, 39.

Lambert, Alexander (pupil), 174, 425.

Lamenais, 14, 79.

Lamond, Frederick, 312, 425.

Landes Musikakademie, 97.

Lanyi, Joann von, 199.

Laprunarède, Adèle (Duchesse de Fleury) (pupil), 37.

Lassen, 19.

Laussot, Jessie Hillebrand, 42.

Lavenu, 309, 310.

Legouvé, Ernest, 214; comparison of Liszt and Thalberg's playing, 281-291, 416.

Lehmann, 259.

Leipsic school, 52.

Lenau, 71, 398.

Lenbach, 416, 417.

Lenz, Von (pupil), account of his acquaintance with Liszt, 201-210.

Leonora Overture (Beethoven's), 153.

Leo XII, 80; XIII, 345, 390.

Leopold I, Emperor, 198.

Leschetitzky, 436.

"Lettres d'un Voyageur" (George Sand), 322.

Leyrand, 416.

Lewald, Fanny, 79.

Lewes, George Henry 43, 48.

Lhévinne, 425, 435; Madame, 436.

Lichnowsky, Prince Felix, 241-243.

Liedertafel, Rhenish, 248, 249.

Lie, Erika, 313.

Liliencron, Baron Detlev von, 331.

Lind, Jenny, 403.

Lindemann-Frommel, 89.

Liondmilla, 298.

Lipsius, Marie. (See La Mara.)

Listemann (conductor), 147.

Liszt, Adam, 12, 317; Anna Lager, 12; Blandine, 15, 90, 97; Cosima (see Cosima von Bülow Wagner); Daniel, 15, 16, 97; Edward, 169.

Liszt, Franz, abuse of, in Germany, 3; affectation in his work, 157; alters harmonic minor scale, 163; amiability of, 21; amusing story of conversion, 320-326; anecdotes, 57, 58, 101, 142, 180, 221, 237, 243, 254, 255, 378; appreciation of Saint-Saëns, 104, 105; as a teacher, 14, 23; as Abbé, 18, 50, 97, 267, 275; biographers of, 51, 55, 56, 101; birth of, 11, 12; birthplace of, 13; boyhood of, 13, 14, 300-305; in Budapest, 97; character of his music, 29, 30, 78; children of, 15, 16, 86, 359; chivalry of, 11, 34, 56; Chopin's obligation to, 6, 73-77; comment on his 13th Psalm, 194, 195; comparison of established symphonic form with that devised by Liszt, 140; compared with Wagner, 108, 143, 144; as composer, 1, 2, 13, 14, 20, 31, 35, 43, 52-56, 86, 90, 103, 144, 327, 377, 409-413; concerts of, 34, 212, 221, 223, 224, 230, 235, 248, 288, 292, 293, 302, 305, 319; as conductor, 2, 87, 135, 258, 377; conducts at Aix-la-Chapelle, 135; conducts in Berlin, 137; conducts at Prague, 136; conducts at Pesth, 94, 96; conducts in Rome, 94; conducts in Weimar, 88; conversation of, 258, 259, 276; court musical director (Weimar), 22, 46, 47; creator of the symphonic poem, 26, 27, 106, 139, 140; criticisms regarding, 2, 8, 14, 17, 21, 64, 153-158, 194, 360, 399; and the Countess d'Agoult, 14-16, 80, 81, 85, 391; daily mode of life, 99, 100; death of, 1, 2, 25, 280; dedications, 57, 100, 169, 172; description of his ideal of romantic religious music, 193; in England, 300-313; fascinating personality of, 45, 235, 236, 241, 246, 256, 257; feminine friendships of, 34-43; fingering, 74, 187; Freemason, 389; friendship with Berlioz, 212; friendship with Cardinal Prince Hohenlohe, 22; friendship with Chopin, 14, 40; friendship with Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, 83, 84; and Marguerite Gautier, 40; generosity of, 24, 101, 257, 258; gifts from sovereigns, 328; greatest contribution to art, 4; hand of, 328, 339; illness of, 44, 135; impressionability of, 8, 10, 11; improvisations of, 82, 180, 181; indebtedness to Chopin, 76; influence of Berlioz, 17, 55, 411; influence of Chopin, 17, 145, 411; influence of gipsy music, 160; influence of Meyerbeer, 145; influence of Paganini, 17; influence of Wagner, 191; ingratitude of Schumann, 57; on instruments of percussion, 170, 171; interest in German art, 90; interest in Tausig, 362; interpretation, 87; interview with, 228, 229; intimacy with Prince Lichnowsky, 241-243; intrigues against, 22; introduces interlocking octaves, 77; introduces the piano recital, 71, 419; and Olga Janina, 41; lack of appreciation of, 31, 141, 229; and the Countess Adèle Laprunarède, 37; letters of, 9, 35, 37, 44, 46, 92, 135, 136, 138, 143, 150, 169, 170, 171, 179, 194, 195, 197, 219, 279, 280, 289, 290, 394, 414; literary work of, 19, 20; in London, 300-313; loss of Piano Method, Part III, 358; love affairs of, 2, 3, 19-23, 36-41, 88; and Lola Montez, 40, 41; musical style of, 4, 181; musical imagination, 8, 146; notation, 187; number of compositions, 56; orchestral form, 194; orchestral instrumentation, 157; orchestral music of, 32, 123, 190; as organ composer, 401, 402; original compositions of, 412, 413; on origin of his Tasso, 115; on origin of his Orpheus, 121; parents of, 12, 14, 251; in Paris, 13, 24; patience of, 27; pedalling, 62, 99, 187; pen picture of, 57; personal appearance, 18, 82, 98, 204, 231, 255, 262, 269, 276, 296, 297; personal characteristics, 2, 3, 17, 66, 71, 327; pianoforte virtuoso, 1, 2, 8, 14, 16, 18, 43, 56, 73, 94, 106, 247, 251, 252, 420; piano music of, 10, 11, 53, 66, 123, 168, 187, 409-413; piano recitals, 82, 83, 179, 308-311, 419; piano reform, 91; piano of, 328, 340, 342, 343, 394; and the Countess Louis Plater, 37; playing of, 17, 60-64, 87, 99, 141, 161, 208, 214, 223, 224, 232, 233, 238-240, 253, 266, 277, 278, 285, 292, 314, 316, 421; plays Weber's Sonatas, 207, 208; plays at Berlioz's, 210; at Bizet's, 379; at court of Wurtemburg, 252; at Karlsruhe, 93; at Legouvé's, 215; at Munkaçzy's, 25; at Tolstoy's, 102; at Windsor Castle, 304; portraits of, 16, 18, 42, 261, 289, 338, 416, 417; prediction at birth of, 12; predominating artistic influences, 17; prophecy of, 100; public speaking of, 179, 213, 226, 227; pupils of, 24, 36, 42, 51, 52, 57, 91, 98, 185, 263, 353-388; alphabetical list of pupils, 353-358; reading of, 14; realism of, 67; reformer of church music, 2; religious fervor of, 89-92, 97, 98, 196; residences in and around Rome, 343; revolutionist, 142; romanticism of, 11, 14, 28; in Rome, 78-85, 89-97, 102; in Russia, 294-300; and Caroline de Saint-Criq, 36, 37; and George Sand, 39, 40, 247; and the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, 19-24, 43-51; Schumann's indebtedness to, 56; as song writer, 165-168; started new era in Hungarian music, 160; statues of, 13, 18, 220, 221, 332; success of, 13, 52; as teacher, 14, 97, 100, 209, 339, 358, 395-397; technique of, 34, 62, 70, 72, 152, 313, 402, 407, 421, 437; temperament of, 28, 29; tempo, 164, 165, 187; testimonials, 328; theological studies of, 95; theory of gipsy music, 20; thought his career a failure, 26; tirelessness of, 17; tomb of, 25, 58; the triangle, 170-172; tribute by Wagner, 23; variety of rhythms of, 31; versatility of, 51, 88, 144; on virtuosity, 392, 393; Wagner's indebtedness to, 1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 31, 55, 141-144; Wagner's praise, 9, 103, 142; wanderings of, 34, 70, 81, 85, 87, 93, 94-96, 97; in Weimar, 19, 23, 46, 47, 87, 88, 96, 169, 329; writing for solo and choral voices, 190.

Liszt, Franz--Works: Alleluja, 92. Angelus, 195, 196. Apparitions, The, 66. Ave Maria, 92, 224, 294. Ballad in B minor, 399. Ballades, 66, 186. Bénédiction de Dieu, 143. Berceuse, 186. Chöre zu Herder's Entfesselte Prometheus, 130, 131. Chorus of Angels, 196, 197. Concert Study, 430. Concertos, 168-174, 187; Concerto Pathétique in E minor, 66, 177, 178; Concerto for piano and orchestra, No. 1, in E flat, 67, 168-172; Concerto for piano, No. 2, in A major (Concert Symphonique), 66, 172-174. Consolations, 187, 412. Don Sancho, 14. Elegier, The, 66. Etudes, 66, 72, 181-185, 305, 408; Etude in D flat, 99; Etude in F minor, No. 10, 72; Etudes de Concert (three), 72, 184; Etudes d'execution transcendante (twelve), 72, 86, 181, 182; Etudes en douze exercices, Op. 1, 181; Etudes, second set of, 182; Ab-Irato, 66, 72, 184, 185; Au Bord d'une Source, 70, 72; Au Lac de Wallenstadt, 72; Danse Macabre, 84, 182, 187; Feux-follets, 72, 184; Gnomenreigen, 72, 92, 184, 400; Harmonies du Soir, 72, 183, 184; Irrlichter, 400; Ricordanza, 72, 184, 187; Studies of Storm and Dread, 183; Vision, 183; Wilde Jagd, 183; Waldesrauschen, 72, 92, 184; Excelsior, 143. Evocatio in der Sixtinischen Kapelle, 90, 143. Fantasias, 179-181, 401; Années de Pèlerinage, 11, 66, 70, 86, 152, 187, 412; Fantasia on Don Juan, 298, 407, 418, 432; Fantasia Dramatique, 187; Fantasia on Reminiscences of Puritani, 82; Fantasia on Themes by Pacini, 292; Fantaisie quasi sonata après une lecture de Dante, 86; Il Penseroso, 84, 86; operatic fantasias, 180, 181; Lucia, 63, 180; Sonnambula, 180; Sposalizio, 84, 86; Tre Sonetti di Petrarca, 86, 187. Funeral March on occasion of Maximilian of Mexico's death, 96. Galop Chromatique, 293, 298. Glanes de Woronice, 25. Harmonies, 412; Harmonies Péstiques et Religieuses, 66. Heilige Cäcelia, Die (essay), 84. Hungarian gipsy music, book on, 19. Hungarian March, 317. Legends, 66, 412; Legend of St. Elisabeth, 88, 90, 143, 191-193, 272, 273, 312; St. Francis of Assisi's Hymn to the Sun, 88; St. Francis of Assisi Preaching to the Birds, 92, 186, 412; St. Francis de Paula Stepping on the Waves, 92, 186, 412. Masses, 4, 54, 187-194; Graner Festmesse, 29, 30, 53, 92, 95, 188, 190, 191, 193, 342; Hungarian Coronation Mass, 95, 96, 189, 190, 270, 271. Mazurkas, 66, 186. Mephisto, Waltz, 71, 178, 231. Nocturnes, 66. Oratorios, 4, 54; Oratorio of Christus, 54, 90, 95, 101, 104, 193, 194, 328; Oratorio of Petrus, 273. Organ variations on Bach themes, 92, 93; organ and trombone composition, 88. Piano arrangements, 86; Adelaide, 294, 298; Beethoven symphonies, 87, 90; Beethoven quartets, 93, 95; Erlkönig, 93, 224, 294, 298. Polonaises, 25, 70, 186. Psalms, 13, 18, 23, 90, 92, 137, 194, 195; Thirteenth Psalm, 92, 194, 195. Rakoczy March, 94, 189, 198-200, 337. Requiem, 97. Rhapsodies Hongroises, 53, 65, 100, 157, 158-165, 178, 187, 189, 367, 407, 412; list of, 158, 159. Scherzo und Marsch in D minor, 186. Serenade, 294. Soirées de Vienne, 25. Sonata in B minor, 29, 57, 59-70, 186, 187, 425. Songs, 165-168. Sonnets after Petrarch, 66. Studies and fragments, 82. Study of Chopin, 19. Symphonic poems, 4, 9, 10, 26, 27, 52, 53, 54, 72, 103, 104, 106-158, 168, 172, 377; La bataille des Huns, after Kaulbach (Hunnenschlacht), 84, 107, 132, 133, 143, 153; Ce qu'on Entend sur la montagne (Berg Symphony), 107, 108-112, 153, 328, 415; Fest-klänge, 107, 126-129, 136, 153, 328; From the Cradle to the Grave, 132; Hamlet, 107, 132, 153; Héroïde funèbre, 107, 131, 153, 178; Hungaria, 132, 153, 328; L'Idéal, after Schiller, 107, 133-139, 143, 153, 367; Mazeppa, 72, 103, 107, 123-126, 183, 407; Orphée, 103, 107, 121, 122, 143, 328; Les Préludes, after Lamartine, 107, 119-121, 136, 153, 367; Prométhée, 107,122, 123, 130, 131; Tasso, Lamento and Trionfo, 107, 113-118, 136, 153, 367; Le Triomphe funèbre du Tasse (epilogue), 97, 118, 197. Symphonies: Dante Symphony, 11, 19, 38, 53, 94, 102, 104, 143, 146-155; Faust Symphony, 22, 38, 53, 58, 141-146, 154, 155, 328, 415; Revolutionary Symphony, 14, 38, 132, 142. Todtentanz, 174-177, 238, 407, 435. Transcriptions, 65, 66, 86, 90, 93, 95, 96, 97, 211, 253, 412; Isolde's Liebestod, 96; Paganini studies, 184, 185, 223; Symphonie Fantastique, 211. Valse-impromptu, 186; Valse Oubliée, 66.

Liszt fund, 257.

"Liszt und die Frauen" (La Mara), 35, 42.

Litolff, Henri, 19, 169.

Littleton, Alfred, 311; Augustus, 313; Henry, 311, 312.

"Le Livre de Caliban" (Bergerat), 320.

Lohengrin (Wagner), 19, 47, 54, 137, 188, 329, 377.

Lorenzetti, Pietro and Ambrogio, 175.

Lotto, Lorenzo, 18.

Louis I, of Bavaria, 89.

Louis, Rudolf (Liszt biographer), 101.

Lytton, Lord, 133.

MacColl, D. S., tribute to music, 32, 33.

MacDowell, Edward (pupil), 24, 425.

Mackenzie, Sir A. C., 195, 312.

Macready (tragedian), notes from diary of, 252.

Madach, "The Tragedy of Mankind," 338.

Madonna del Rosario (cloister), 90.

Maeterlinck, 71.

Mahler, Gustav, 65.

Mai, Cardinal, 83.

Maiden's Lament, The (Schubert's), 167.

Makart, Hans, 338.

Malibran, 82, 204.

Manet, Edouard, 32.

Manns, August, 139.

Marcello, 84.

Margulies, Adele, 436.

Marschner, 6.

Mason, Dr. William (pupil), 19, 143, 434.

Massocia, 79.

Matisse, 28.

Maupassant, Guy de, 26.

Maximilian of Mexico, 96.

Mazurka (Chopin), 65, 186.

Meditations Poétiques (Lamartine's), 119, 204.

Mees, Arthur (conductor), 191.

Mehlig, Anna, 276.

Meistersinger, Die (Wagner), 7.

Melchers, Gari, 332.

Melena, Elpis, 42.

"Memories of a Musical Life" (William Mason), 143.

Mendelssohn, Felix, 3, 31, 53, 66, 73, 85, 105, 293, 300, 309, 400, 409, 411; Psalm, As the Hart Pants, 293; Songs without Words, 319.

Menter, Sofie (pupil), 24, 42, 171, 279, 280, 436, 437.

Mercadante, 86.

Merian-Genast, Emilie, 42.

Merry del Val, Mgr., 344.

Mertens-Schaaffhausen, Frau Sibylle, 89.

Méthode des Méthodes, 185.

Metternich, Prince, 244.

Metternich Princess, 243, 244.

Meyendorff, Baroness Olga de (pupil), 42.

Meyerbeer, 129, 145, 180, 236.

Mezzofanti, Cardinal, 83.

Michelangelo, 9, 28, 84.

Michetti's Beethoven Album, 225.

Mignet, François, 14.

Mildner, 212.

Milnes, Monckton (Lord Houghton), 252.

Milozzi, 350.

Minasi, account of conversation with Liszt, 250-252.

Minghetti, Princess, 100.

Mischka (Liszt's servant), 101.

Mock, Camille. (See Madame Pleyel.)

_Monday Review, The_ (Vienna), 390.

Montauban, 84.

Monte Mario, Dominican cloister of, 50, 90, 91, 93, 94, 100, 197, 265, 274, 342.

Montez, Lola, 19, 40, 226; extracts from "Wits and Women of Paris," 246, 247.

Montigny-Remaury, Madame, 433, 436.

Moore, George, 26, 29.

Mori, 302.

_Morning Post_ (Manchester), 301-303, 316.

Morris, William, 327.

Moscheles, 185, 221, 317, 385; extracts from diary of, 223-228.

Mosenthal, comments on Liszt, 222.

Mouchanoff-Kalergis, Marie von, 42, 363.

Mozart, 10, 31, 32, 62, 84, 105, 142, 282, 304, 409, 432; his piano, 262.

Müllerlieder (Schubert's), 167.

Munch, Edward, 28.

Munkaczy, 25, 44, 280, 417; portrait of Liszt, 338.

Murphy, Lady Blanche, account of Liszt's sojourn at Monte Mario in 1862, 265-267.

_Musenalmanach, The_, 133.

_Musical Journal_ (London), 307; _Standard, The_, 378; _Times_ (London), 300; _World_ (London), 308-310.

Musset, Alfred de, 5, 398.

"My Literary Life" (Madame Edmond Adam), 39.

Nachtigall (director), 242.

Natalucci, 381.

Neate, 302.

"Nélida" (by Countess d'Agoult), 41, 259.

Neo-German school, 53.

Nerenz, 89.

_Neue Zeitschrift für Musik_, 92.

Neupert, Edmund, 425.

Newmarch, Rose, on Liszt in Russia, 293-300.

New museum, Berlin, 132.

Newman, Ernest, 7, 10.

Nicholas I, Emperor, 295.

Niecks, Dr. Frederick, 40, 73, 74, 77, 134, 313, 409, 414.

Nietzsche, Friedrich, 21, 38, 144, 327, 329, 331, 333-335, 360; Elisabeth Foerster, 329, 333, 334.

Nohant, 81.

Norma (Thalberg's), 63

Normanby, Lord, 252.

Novello, Clara, 377, 378.

Obermann, 9.

Odescalchi, Princess, 49.

Olde, Professor Hans, 331.

Ollivier, Emile, 15; Madame Emile. (See Blandine Liszt.)

Onslow, 201.

Orcagna, Andrea, 28, 84, 175.

Order of the Golden Spur, 296.

Orpheus (Gluck's), 121.

Overbeck, 80, 83.

"Oxford History of Music," 187.

Pacini, 292.

Paderewski, 16, 17, 418, 419, 423, 425-428, 432, 436.

Paer, 80.

Paganini, 2, 17, 73, 76, 282-284, 292, 378, 402, 403, 411; caprices, 185.

Paganini Studies (Schumann's), 73.

Paisiello, 80.

Palestrina, 84.

Palibin, Madame, 297, 298.

Paroles d'un Croyant (Lamenais), 14.

Parry, John, 309, 310.

Parsons, Albert Ross, 421.

Passini, 89.

Paur, 144; Madame, 436.

Pavlovna, Grand Duchess Maria, 3, 42, 46, 47, 128.

Pavlovna, Princess Maria, 22.

Petersen, Dory, 436.

Petrarca, 165.

Philharmonic Society, London, 171, 223, 224, 307.

Pianoforte music, notation of, 186, 187.

Piano-playing, 60-66, 423.

Picasso, 28.

Piccini, 80.

Pick, Mgr., 345.

Pietagrua, Angela, 36.

Pisa, Giovanni da, 84.

Pius IX, 45, 48, 50, 91, 92, 101, 342, 349, 390; Pius X, 50; an audience with, 345-352.

Pixis, 82, 308.

Pixis-Göhringer, Francilla, 82.

Plaidy, 385.

Planché, Gustave, 39.

Planté, 433.

Plater, Countess Louis (Gräfin Brzostowska), witticism of, 35, 37.

Pleyel, 286; piano, 282; Marie Camille, 17, 42, 201, 436.

Podoska, M. Calm, 49; Pauline (mother of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), 45.

Pohl, Carl Ferdinand, 300; Richard (pupil), 126, 127, 130, 149, 151.

Polonaise (Chopin), 70, 75, 186, 430.

Porges, Heinrich (pupil), 92.

Potter, Cipriani, 302.

Prätorius, Michael, 172.

Préludes (Chopin), 75.

Programme music, 106, 115, 156, 186.

Prückner, Dionys (pupil), 19, 171.

Pückler, Prince (pupil), 242.

Pugna, 425, 433.

_Punch_ (London), 312.

_Quarterly Musical Magazine and Review_ (London), 301.

Raab, Toni, 24.

Raff Joachim (pupil), 19, 27, 67, 260.

Raiding (or Reiding), Liszt's birthplace, 13, 60, 66, 339.

Rakoczy, Prince Franz, 198, 200.

Ramaciotti, 382.

Ramann, Lina (pupil and biographer), 49, 50, 74-76, 128, 168, 171, 191, 200.

Raphael, 9, 28, 80, 84, 233.

Rauzan, Duchesse de, 319.

Ravel, 10.

Realism, 61, 62.

Récamier, Madame de, 43.

"Records of Later Life" (Kemble), 244.

Reeves, Henry, extract from his biography, 319, 320.

Reger, 10, 30.

Reichstadt, Duc de, 11.

Reisenauer, Alfred (pupil), 24, 425.

Rembrandt, 28.

Remenyi, Edward (pupil), 19, 358.

Reminiscences of Liszt: Andersen, Hans Christian, 230-234. Anonymous German Admirer, 252-258. Anonymous Lady Admirer, 262-265. B. W. H., 275-280. Bauer, Caroline, 241-244. Beringer, Oscar, 376, 377. Berlioz, 210-217. Commettant, Oscar, 219, 220. De Bury, Blaze, 218, 219. D'Ortigue, 217, 218. Dwight, 228, 229. Eliot, George, 258-262. Ellet, Mrs., 248, 249. Escudier, Leon, 220-222. Grieg, Eduard, 313-316. Heine, 234-241. Hoffman, Richard, 316-318. Kemble, Fanny, 244, 245. Kirkenbuhl, Karl, 267-275. Legouvé, Ernest, 281-291. Macready, 252. Minasi, 250-252. Montez, Lola, 246, 247. Moscheles, 223-228. Mosenthal, 222, 223. Murphy, Lady Blanche, 265-267. Novello, Clara, 377, 378. Reeves, Henry, 319-320. Rosenthal, 366-368. Schumann, Robert, 291-294. Von Lenz, 201-210. Weingartner, 400, 401.

Renan, Henrietta, 334.

Requiem (Berlioz), 193.

Reulke, Julius (pupil), 401.

Reviczy, Countess, 100.

Revolutionary Study (Chopin's), 6.

_Revue des Deux Mondes_, 218; _Européenne_, 211; _du Monde Catholique_, 88; _de Paris_, 391.

Richter, 385; Jean Paul, 134.

Riedel, Karl (pupil), 89.

Riedle Society, The, 363.

Ries, 302.

Rietschl, 261.

Righini, 80.

Rimsky-Korsakoff (pupil), 27, 414-416.

Ring, Nibelungen (Wagner), 7, 142-144, 188, 245, 363.

Rivé-King, Julia, 436.

Robert (Meyerbeer's), 231

Rodin, Auguste, 331, 338.

Roger-Miclos, Madame, 436.

Roman New Musical Society, 382.

Romantic school, 5, 28, 63.

Romeo and Juliet (Berlioz), 212.

"Römischen Tagebüchern" (Gregorovius), 88.

Roquette, Otto, 191.

Rosa, Carl, 385; Salvator, 28.

Rosenthal, Moriz (pupil), 24, 57, 366, 367, 424, 425, 427-429, 431.

Rospigliosi, Fanny, Princess, 42.

Rossetti, Christina, 437.

Rossini, 63, 80, 84, 86, 101, 204, 300, 377, 411, 412.

Rougon-Macquart series, 26.

Rousseau, J. J., 11.

Royal Amateur Orchestral Society (London), 312; Society of Musicians (London), 301.

Rubini, 237, 252.

Rubinstein, 17, 19, 24, 63, 145, 156, 171, 222, 223, 262, 374, 382, 386-388, 402, 420-423, 427, 433, 435; Nicolas (pupil), 421.

Rückert, 165.

Rummel, Franz, 174, 425.

Runciman, John F., 21.

Russlane, 298.

Ruzsitska, 199.

Sacchini, 80.

Sainte-Beuve, 9, 11.

Saint-Criq, Comtesse Caroline de (pupil), 36, 37.

St. Matthew's Passion (Bach), 195.

Saint-Saëns, Camille (pupil), 24, 27, 54, 64, 65, 67, 104, 176, 177, 181, 369, 382, 386, 425, 426, 433.

Saint-Simon, 14.

Salaman, Charles, 304, 308.

Salieri, 13.

Salviati, 347.

Samaroff, Olga, 436.

Sand, George, 15, 16, 19, 39, 40, 43, 81, 204, 246, 247, 391, 436.

Santa Francesca Romana, cloister, 95.

Sarasate, 432.

Sarti, 80.

Sauer, Emil (pupil), 24, 57, 425.

Sauerma, Countess, Rosalie (pupil), 42.

Sayn-Wittgenstein, Princess, 8, 19, 20, 22-24, 39, 42-45, 47-50, 53, 56, 99, 100, 127, 128, 135-138, 146, 260, 328, 362.

Scarlatti, 423.

Schade, Dr., 260.

Schadow, 28.

Schakovskoy, Princess Nadine. (See Helbig.)

Scheffer, Ary, 16, 28, 260, 261, 289.

Scherzo (Chopin), 75, 76, 428.

Schiller, 47, 165, 167, 223, 279, 328-330; Madeleine, 436.

Schindler, 13.

Schlaf, Johannes, 332.

_Schlesinger's Gazette Musicale_, 203, 287.

Schlözer, Kurt von, 89, 94.

Schmidt, Dr. Leopold, 190.

Schoenberg, Arnold, 419.

Scholl (band master), 200.

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 328; Madame Johanna, 89, 328.

Schorn, Adelheid von (pupil), 44.

Schubert, 66, 105, 160, 166, 167, 293, 411, 420.

Schule der Geläufigkeit, (Czerny), 182.

Schumann, Robert, 5, 19, 53, 56, 57, 60, 62, 66, 73, 105, 172, 182, 183, 185, 375, 381, 397, 398, 405, 408, 409, 418, 420, 421, 432; on Liszt's playing, 201-294; Clara, 53, 56, 57, 436, 437.

Schwanthaler, 261.

Schwarz, Frau von, 89.

Schweinfurt, 89.

Schwindt, Moritz v., 191.

Scriabine, 435.

Scribe, 217.

Scudo, 17.

Segantini, 338.

Segnitz, Eugene, 49, 79, 84, 85, 89, 92.

Seidl, Anton, 359.

Sembrich, Marcella, 431.

Serassi, Pier Antonio, 197.

Serov, 296, 298, 299.

Servais, Franz (pupil), 359.

Sgambati, Giovanni (pupil), 91, 314, 342, 381-384.

Sherwood, William H. (pupil), 425.

Siloti, Alexander (pupil), 24, 174, 415.

Simpson, Palgrave, 252.

Sinding, Otto, 338.

Slivinski, 425.

Smart, Sir G., 302, 303.

Smetana, Frederick (pupil), 414.

Society of Music Friends, 139.

Solfanelli, Abbé, 96.

Sonata (Beethoven), 6, 38, 59, 214, 215, 319, 428.

Sonata (Wagner), 142.

Sonata (Weber), 207-210.

"Songs and Song Writers" (H. T. Finck), 165.

Sonntag, 82, 204.

Sophie, Princess, of Holland, 46.

"Souvenirs d'une Cosaque" (Olga Janina), 41.

Sowinski, 75.

Spanuth, August (analysis of the Hungarian Rhapsodies), 160-165, 425.

Speyeras, W. C., 389.

Spohr, 42, 226, 300.

Spontini, 258, 259.

Stahr, Ad., 79.

Stahr, Fräuleins, 397.

Stassor (Russian critic), 296-298.

Stavenhagen, Bernhard (pupil), 24, 98, 312, 425.

Steinway & Sons, 394.

Stella, 417.

Stendhal, 4, 5, 11, 34, 35, 64, 141.

Stern, Daniel (pen name of the Countess d'Agoult), 16.

Sternberg, von, 425.

Stimson, 385.

Stojowski, 425, 435.

Stradal, August (pupil), 98-100.

Strauss, Richard, 8, 27, 29, 31, 52, 54, 145, 146, 168, 331, 419.

Streicher, Nanette, 436.

Strobl, 417.

Studies (Chopin), 75, 437.

Sullivan, 385.

Symphony (Beethoven), 105, 171, 292, 382.

Symphony (Berlioz), 106.

Symphony (Haydn), 172.

Symphony (Herold), 106.

Symphony (Schubert), 293.

Symphony (Schumann), 172.

"Symphony Since Beethoven" (Weingartner), 153.

Szalit, Paula, 436.

Székely, 338.

Szumowska, Antoinette, 436.

Szymanowska, Madame de, 436.

Tadema, Alma, 100.

Taffanel, 281.

_Tageblatt, The_, 190.

Tagel (Wurtemburg counsellor of court), 254, 255.

Taglioni, Marie, 204.

Taine, 343.

Taj Mahal, 29.

Tancredi, Tournament duet in, 204.

Tannhäuser (Wagner), 181, 188, 377.

Tasso, 100.

"Tasso" (Byron's), 115.

"Tasso" (Goethe's), 113, 115.

Tausig, Alois, 362; Karl (pupil), 17, 19, 58, 62, 63, 73, 95, 138, 359-366, 374, 376, 402, 420, 421, 423, 424, 431, 432, 434.

Taylor, Franklin, 385.

Thackeray, W. M., 11, 28, 47.

Thalberg, 16, 17, 60, 63, 81, 211, 221, 247, 250, 251, 282-285, 287, 288, 308, 359, 378, 399, 411, 420, 430.

Théâtre des Italiens (Paris), 104, 223, 285, 288.

Theatre Royal (Manchester), 303.

Theiner, Pater, 91.

Thiers, 104.

Thode, Professor Henry, 280.

Thomas, Theodore, 132, 133.

Thorwaldsen, 78, 80.

Tilgner, 417.

Tintoretto, 28.

Tisza, 200.

Titian, 28, 84.

Tolstoy, Countess, 98.

Torhilon-Buell, Marie, 436.

Trémont, Baron, 201.

Tristan and Isolde (Wagner), 6, 7, 25, 55, 143, 280, 363.

Triumph of Death (fresco), 175.

Tschaikowsky, 27, 145, 146, 367, 419, 422.

Turgenev, 388.

Uhland, 165.

Ungarische Tänze (Brahms'), 190.

Unger-Sabatier, Caroline, 42.

Urspruch, Anton (pupil), 24.

Vaczek, Carl, 198, 199.

Valle dell' Inferno, 100.

Vallet, Michael, 390, 391.

Valse-impromptu (Chopin), 186.

Van der Stucken (pupil), 24, 358.

Vasari, 347.

Vatican, The, 49, 79, 83, 92, 93, 94, 342, 352.

Veit, 83.

Velde, Professor van de, 332.

Verdi, 96, 180, 300, 412.

Verlaine, Paul, 10, 62, 63, 375.

Vernet, Horace, 124.

Veronese, 28.

Vesque, 226.

Viardot-Garcia, Pauline, 42.

Victoria, Queen, 24, 312.

Viennese pianos, 62, 182.

Villa d'Este, 9, 96, 341.

Villa Medici, 83.

Vimercati, 302.

Vivier, 227.

Vogrich, Max, 332, 425; Opera Buddha, 332.

Voltaire, 124.

Volterra, Daniele da, 347.

Wagner, Richard, 1, 2, 5-10, 18-21, 23, 27, 29-32, 38, 43, 45, 47, 53-55, 57, 58, 63, 65, 67, 96, 101, 103, 108, 119, 140-144, 146, 147, 150, 151, 157, 158, 167, 171, 180, 186, 188, 189, 191, 280, 300, 333, 362, 363, 382, 411, 412, 419, 420, 422; Madame Richard (see Cosima von Bülow Wagner); Siegfried, 26.

"Wagnerfrage" (Raff), 260.

Wales, Prince and Princess of, 312.

Walker, Bettina, 383; "My Musical Experiences," 383.

Ward, Andrew, 304, 317, 319.

Wartburg festival, 96, 272.

Watteau, 120.

Weber, 6, 105, 205-207, 215, 282, 283, 300, 368.

Wehrstaedt, 206, 207.

Weimar, Duchess of, (see Pavlovna); Ernst, Grand Duke, 330; Grand Duke Carl Alexander of, 3, 42, 44, 46.

Weingartner, Felix (pupil), 153, 400, 401; on Liszt's symphonic works, 153-156.

Wesendonck, Mathilde, 20, 43.

Wesley, Samuel Sebastian, 301.

Wieland, 328.

Wiertz, 28.

Wild, Jonathan, 79.

Wildenbruch, Ernst von, 331.

William Tell, Overture to, 82, 298.

Winckelmann, 78, 275.

Winding, 314.

_Windsor Express_ (London), 304.

Winterberger, Alex. (pupil), 359.

Wiseman, Cardinal, 79.

Wittgenstein, Princess, (see Sayn-Wittgenstein); Prince Nikolaus, 46, 47, 50.

Wohl, Janka, (pupil), 56, 417.

Wolff, Dr., 226, 227.

Wolffenbüttel, 172.

Wolkenstein, Countess, 42.

Wolkof, 417.

Wolzogen, Von, 57.

Worcester festival, 191.

Woronice (estate of Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), 45-47.

Wortley, Stuart, 252.

Wurtemburg, King of, 252, 254, 255.

Yeats, 327.

Zampa, Overture to, 181.

Zeisler, Fannie Bloomfield, 431, 436, 437.

Zichy, Geza (pupil), 24; Michael, 338.

Zingarelli, 381.

Zoellner, 196.

Zucchari, 347.

BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER

PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

=Franz Liszt.= Illustrated. 12mo. (_Postage extra_) _net_, $2.00

=Promenades of an Impressionist.= 12mo. _net_, $1.50

=Egoists: A Book of Supermen.= 12mo, _net_, $1.50

=Iconoclasts: A Book of Dramatists.= 12mo, _net_, $1.50

=Overtones: A Book of Temperaments.= 12mo, _net_, $1.50

=Mezzotints in Modern Music.= 12mo, $1.50

=Chopin: The Man and His Music.= With Portrait. 12mo, $2.00

=Visionaries.= 12mo, $1.50

=Melomaniacs.= 12mo, $1.50

PROMENADES

_of an_

IMPRESSIONIST

$1.50 net

CONTENTS: Paul Cézanne--Rops the Etcher--Monticelli--Rodin--Eugene Carrière--Degas--Botticelli--Six Spaniards--Chardin--Black and White--Impressionism--A New Study of Watteau--Gauguin and Toulouse-Lautrec--Literature and Art--Museum Promenades.

"The vivacity of Mr. Huneker's style sometimes tends to conceal the judiciousness of his matter. His justly great reputation as a journalist critic most people would attribute to his salient phrase. To the present writer, the phrase goes for what it is worth--generally it is eloquent and interpretative, again merely decorative--what really counts is an experienced and unbiassed mind at ease with its material. The criticism that can pass from Goya, the tempestuous, that endless fount of facile enthusiasms, and do justice to the serene talent of Fortuny is certainly catholic. In fact, Mr. Huneker is an impressionist only in his aversion to the literary approach, and in a somewhat wilful lack of system. This, too, often seems less temperamental than a result of journalistic conditions, and of the dire need of being entertaining.

"We like best such sober essays as those which analyze for us the technical contributions of Cézanne and Rodin. Here, Mr. Huneker is a real interpreter, and here his long experience of men and ways in art counts for much. Charming, in the slighter vein, are such appreciations as the Monticelli, and Chardin. Seasoned readers of Mr. Huneker's earlier essays in musical and dramatic criticism will naturally turn to the fantastic titles in this book. Such border-line geniuses as Greco, Rops, Meryon, Gustave Moreau, John Martin, are treated with especial gusto. We should like to have an appreciation of Blake from this ardent searcher of fine eccentricities. In the main the book is devoted to artists who have come into prominence since 1870, the French naturally predominating, but such precursors of modern tendencies or influential spirits as Botticelli, Watteau, Piranesi are included. Eleven 'Museum promenades,' chiefly in the Low Countries and in Spain, are on the whole less interesting than the individual appreciations--necessarily so, but this category embraces a capital sketch of Franz Hals at Haarlem, while the three Spanish studies on the Prado Museum, Velasquez, and Greco at Toledo, are quite of the best. From the Velasquez, we transcribe one of many fine passages:

"'His art is not correlated to the other arts. One does not dream of music or poetry or sculpture or drama in front of his pictures. One thinks of life and then of the beauty of the paint. Velasquez is never rhetorical, nor does he paint for the sake of making beautiful surfaces as often does Titian. His practice is not art for art as much as art for life. As a portraitist, Titian's is the only name to be coupled with that of Velasquez. He neither flattered his sitters, as did Van Dyck, nor mocked them like Goya. And consider the mediocrities, the dull, ugly, royal persons he was forced to paint! He has wrung the neck of banal eloquence, and his prose, sober, rich, noble, sonorous, rhythmic, is, to my taste, preferable to the exalted, versatile volubility and lofty poetic tumblings in the azure of any school of painting.'

"Here we see how winning Mr. Huneker's manner is and how insidious. Unless you immediately react against that apparently innocent word 'tumblings,' your faith in the grand style will begin to disintegrate. It is this very sense of walking among pitfalls that will make the book fascinating to a veteran reader. The young are advised to temper it with an infusion of Sir Joshua Reynolds's 'Discourses,' _quantum sufficit_."--FRANK JEWETT MATHER, JR., in _New York Nation_ and _Evening Post_.

EGOISTS

_A BOOK OF SUPERMEN_

_With Portrait and Fac-simile Reproductions_

12mo. $1.50 net; _Postpaid_ $1.65

CONTENTS: Stendhal--Baudelaire--Flaubert--Anatole France--Huysmans--Barrès--Hello--Blake--Nietzsche--Ibsen--Max Stirner.

"The work of a man who knows his subject thoroughly and who writes frankly and unconventionally."--_The Outlook._

"Stimulating, provocative of thought."--_The Forum._

ICONOCLASTS:

A Book of Dramatists

12mo. $1.50 net

CONTENTS: Henrik Ibsen--August Strindberg--Henry Becque--Gerhart Hauptmann--Paul Hervieu--The Quintessence of Shaw--Maxim Gorky's Nachtasyl--Hermann Sudermann--Princess Mathilde's Play--Duse and D'Annunzio--Villiers de l'Isle Adam--Maurice Maeterlinck.

"His style is a little jerky, but it is one of those rare styles in which we are led to expect some significance, if not wit, in every sentence."--G. K. CHESTERTON, in _London Daily News_.

"No other book in English has surveyed the whole field so comprehensively."--_The Outlook._

"A capital book, lively, informing, suggestive."--_London Times Saturday Review._

"Eye-opening and mind-clarifying is Mr. Huneker's criticism; ... no one having read that opening essay in this volume will lay it down until the final judgment upon Maurice Maeterlinck is reached."--_Boston Transcript._

OVERTONES:

A Book of Temperaments

_WITH FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT OF RICHARD STRAUSS_

12mo. $1.25 net

CONTENTS: Richard Strauss--Parsifal: A Mystical Melodrama--Literary Men who loved Music (Balzac, Turgenieff, Daudet, etc.)--The Eternal Feminine--The Beethoven of French Prose--Nietzsche the Rhapsodist--Anarchs of Art--After Wagner, What?--Verdi and Boito.

"The whole book is highly refreshing with its breadth of knowledge, its catholicity of taste, and its inexhaustible energy."--_Saturday Review, London._

"In some respects Mr. Huneker must be reckoned the most brilliant of all living writers on matters musical."--_Academy, London._

"No modern musical critic has shown greater ingenuity in the attempt to correlate the literary and musical tendencies of the nineteenth century."--_Spectator, London._

MEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC

BRAHMS, TSCHAÏKOWSKY, CHOPIN, RICHARD STRAUSS, LISZT AND WAGNER

12mo. $1.50

"Mr. Huneker is, in the best sense, a critic; he listens to the music and gives you his impressions as rapidly and in as few words as possible; or he sketches the composers in fine, broad, sweeping strokes with a magnificent disregard for unimportant details. And as Mr. Huneker is, as I have said, a powerful personality, a man of quick brain and an energetic imagination, a man of moods and temperament--a string that vibrates and sings in response to music--we get in these essays of his a distinctly original and very valuable contribution to the world's tiny musical literature."--J. F. RUNCIMAN, in _London Saturday Review_.

MELOMANIACS

12mo. $1.50.

CONTENTS: The Lord's Prayer in B--A Son of Liszt--A Chopin of the Gutter--The Piper of Dreams--An Emotional Acrobat--Isolde's Mother--The Rim of Finer Issues--An Ibsen Girl--Tannhäuser's Choice--The Red-Headed Piano Player--Brynhild's Immolation--The Quest of the Elusive--An Involuntary Insurgent--Hunding's Wife--The Corridor of Time--Avatar--The Wegstaffes give a Musicale--The Iron Virgin--Dusk of the Gods--Siegfried's Death--Intermezzo--A Spinner of Silence--The Disenchanted Symphony--Music the Conqueror.

"It would be difficult to sum up 'Melomaniacs' in a phrase. Never did a book, in my opinion at any rate, exhibit greater contrasts, not, perhaps, of strength and weakness, but of clearness and obscurity. It is inexplicably uneven, as if the writer were perpetually playing on the boundary line that divides sanity of thought from intellectual chaos. There is method in the madness, but it is a method of intangible ideas. Nevertheless, there is genius written over a large portion of it, and to a musician the wealth of musical imagination is a living spring of thought."--HAROLD E. GORST, in _London Saturday Review_ (Dec. 8, 1906).

VISIONARIES

12mo. $1.50 net

CONTENTS: A Master of Cobwebs--The Eighth Deadly Sin--The Purse of Aholibah--Rebels of the Moon--The Spiral Road--A Mock Sun--Antichrist--The Eternal Duel--The Enchanted Yodler--The Third Kingdom--The Haunted Harpsichord--The Tragic Wall--A Sentimental Rebellion--Hall of the Missing Footsteps--The Cursory Light--An Iron Fan--The Woman Who Loved Chopin--The Tune of Time--Nada--Pan.

"The author's style is sometimes grotesque in its desire both to startle and to find true expression. He has not followed those great novelists who write French a child may read and understand. He calls the moon 'a spiritual gray wafer'; it faints in 'a red wind'; 'truth beats at the bars of a man's bosom'; the sun is 'a sulphur-colored cymbal'; a man moves with 'the jaunty grace of a young elephant.' But even these oddities are significant and to be placed high above the slipshod sequences of words that have done duty till they are as meaningless as the imprint on a worn-out coin.

"Besides, in nearly every story the reader is arrested by the idea, and only a little troubled now and then by an over-elaborate style. If most of us are sane, the ideas cherished by these visionaries are insane; but the imagination of the author so illuminates them that we follow wondering and spellbound. In 'The Spiral Road' and in some of the other stories both fantasy and narrative may be compared with Hawthorne in his most unearthly moods. The younger man has read his Nietzsche and has cast off his heritage of simple morals. Hawthorne's Puritanism finds no echo in these modern souls, all sceptical, wavering and unblessed. But Hawthorne's splendor of vision and his power of sympathy with a tormented mind do live again in the best of Mr. Huneker's stories."--_London Academy_ (Feb. 3, 1906).

CHOPIN:

The Man and His Music

_WITH ETCHED PORTRAIT_

12mo. $2.00

"No pianist, amateur or professional, can rise from the perusal of his pages without a deeper appreciation of the new forms of beauty which Chopin has added, like so many species of orchids, to the musical flora of the nineteenth century."--_The Nation._

"I think it not too much to predict that Mr. Huneker's estimate of Chopin and his works is destined to be the permanent one. He gives the reader the cream of the cream of all noteworthy previous commentators, besides much that is wholly his own. He speaks at once with modesty and authority, always with personal charm."--_Boston Transcript._

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes

The illustrations (and captions in the text version) have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus the page number of an illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the same in the List of Illustrations and in the book.

An advertisement listing books available from the author has been moved from the front of the book to the end, where it precedes full advertisements for the books; a heading thus duplicated ("BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER") has been removed.

The text contains many inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation, which have been left unchanged. In particular, Liszt's works are referred to inconsistently by their titles in various languages, and names of keys are inconsistently hyphenated (e.g. "A-flat" and "A flat").

Words in other languages were sometimes printed without their diacritics, e.g. "Fraulein" for "Fräulein", and "czardas" for "czárdás". On page 13, "Dobrjan" appears to have been printed with a diaeresis on the "j"; this has been omitted, while the two other spellings used ("Dobrjàn" and "Dobrjan") have been retained.

Other inconsistencies include:

Suiss and Swiss Medæival and mediæval Graner Messe and Graner-messe Préludes and Preludes Tschaikowski and Tschaikowsky Belvédère and Belvedere Berçeuse and Berceuse d'exécution and d'execution Débats and Debats Fräuleins and Frauleins Köhler and Kohler Méditations and Meditations Müllerlieder and Mullerlieder leitmotive and Leitmotive Prückner and Pruckner Rákóczy and Rakoczy Zürich and Zurich Mickelangelo and Michelangelo Nadine Hellbig and Nadine Helbig Munkácsy is spelled as Munkacsy, Munkaczy, Munkaçzy, Munkacszy, and Munkàcsy any one and anyone benefit concerts and benefit-concerts boat-hand and boathand Czerny and Czerni concert room and concert-room d' Este and d'Este Danziger Rosebault and Danziger-Rosebault e 'l and e'l Erl King and Erl-King ever ready and ever-ready every one and everyone Fest-klänge and Festklänge Feux-follets and Feux follets for ever and forever half dozen and half-dozen iron gray and iron-gray key-note and keynote Maria-Pawlowna, Maria Pawlowna, and Maria Paulowna Merian-Genast and Merian Genast music loving and music-loving octave playing and octave-playing opera house and opera-house piano concerto and piano-concerto Piano-Forte, Piano Forte, and pianoforte piano player and piano-player piano playing and piano-playing piano recital and piano-recital piano teacher and piano-teacher pianoforte playing and pianoforte-playing programme music and programme-music puzta and putzta quasi-sonata and quasi sonata Ramann and Ramagn rewritten and re-written Rivé-King and Rivé King three quarters and three-quarters well known and well-known what ever and whatever wood-wind and woodwind writing table and writing-table

Inconsistent punctuation in the sentence beginning "Masterpieces, besides those already" on p. 153 has been retained.

Some apparent errors have been retained:

p. 17 extra comma ("Paganini, had set") p. 34 extra comma ("a man who, accomplished") p. 58 mis-spelling ("Hoffgartnerei") p. 83 extra comma ("Gregory XIV, had opened") p. 111 mis-spelling ("Bestandig") p. 123 extra comma ("the god, believing in his own") p. 144 mis-spelling ("Gotterdämmerung") p. 204 mis-spelling ("infinitively") p. 309 mis-spelling ("troup") p. 341 full stop instead of comma ("much for fame. I bitterly")

Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been corrected as follows:

p. 27, comma changed to full stop (winds and murmurs.") p. 74 "though" changed to "through" ("through his pupils continued") p. 74 comma added to text ("whose fiery passions, indomitable energy") p. 89, quotation mark added to text (outside of Italy":) p. 98, "Madamoiselle" changed to "Mademoiselle" (Mademoiselle Cognetti) p. 108, quotation mark removed from text ("same school.") p. 149, "pentinent" changed to "penitent" p. 152, "philsophical" changed to "philosophical" p. 169, quotation mark removed from text ("a spirited march.") p. 174, quotation mark removed from text ("wonders by black art.'") p. 177, full stop changed to comma ("dispensed with,") p. 199, "talent as a violonist" changed to "talent as a violinist" p. 205, single quotation mark added to text ("'Freischütz,'") p. 209, "Bailot's" changed to "Baillot's" p. 212, "Liszt's and Berlioz intimacy" changed to "Liszt's and Berlioz's intimacy" p. 214, "Listz was playing" changed to "Liszt was playing" p. 219, "ooms:" changed to "rooms:" p. 236, "genuis" changed to "genius" p. 299, double quotation mark changed to single quotation mark ("grace, and beauty.'") p. 299, "genuis" changed to "genius" p. 302, double quotation mark changed to single quotation mark ("'as a concertante wit") p. 351, full stop changed to comma ("he loved Germany,") p. 356, comma added to text ("Adolf Blassmann,") p. 358, full stop changed to comma ("Johannes Zschocher,") p. 359, comma changed to full stop (""Second Tausig."") p. 372, quotation mark added to text (""Friedheim is of medium height") p. 422, "à la main gouche" changed to "à la main gauche" p. 424, full stop changed to comma ("no other in the world,") p. 441, "When" changed to "when" (when Breitkopf and Härtel finish) p. 447, closing brackets added to text ("(Princess Nadine Schakovskoy)" p. 447, "Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst" changed to "Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst" p. 447, semi-colon changed to full stop ("Museum (Budapest), 338.") p. 451, full stop changed to semi-colon ("Piano arrangements, 86;") p. 451, comma added to text ("to the Grave, 132;") p. 452, comma added to text ("Sofie (pupil), 24, 42,") p. 453, comma added to text ("Paderewski, 16, 17, 418, 419,") p. 455, "Niebelungen" changed to "Nibelungen" p. 455, comma added to text ("Rosenthal, Moriz (pupil)") p. 457, "Veldi" changed to "Velde" p. 457, comma added to text ("Tristan and Isolde (Wagner),") (Unnumbered advertisement) quotation mark added to text (""Here we see how winning")