Scan 8
Musical Courier 1895-12-25: Vol 31 Iss 825, 1895
81 lines. Read by computer on 25 September 2026, twice; the two readings disagreed in places. Printed page 9. See the scan on archive.org.
1he cannot be a pianist, hence he is not the 'favorite pupil.'"
3I have not reproduced Kalauer's description verbatim, but such as it is here, one can see that the professor doubts the existence of the genius he describes. I agree with him, even though Albert Morris Bagby, in his interesting reminiscences of Liszt, assures us that Arthur Friedheim was the genuine favorite.
5In the large photograph representing Liszt in the centre of a group of young men and several ladies we see him surrounded by his best pupils, those who enjoyed his intimate friendship, his best musical counsel, and his recognition as the true representatives of his pianistic theories.
7These young pianists (together with Eugene d'Albert and Bernhard Stavenhagen) formed the class which Liszt regarded as the most talented of the day; it had even escaped the caustic criticisms of Bülow. In this class were embodied the principles which Liszt had brought to such absolute perfection, as well as his artistic insight and musical earnestness. They were worthy disciples of a worthier master.
9In the centre of the group sits Franz Liszt, his features wearing an annoyed, impatient expression, due to his extreme dislike of being photographed. His hands are held in his lap, and the interlaced fingers show to advantage their unusual slimness and length.
11He wears the clerical garb that is emblematical of his title of abbé. It may not be uninteresting to the reader if I digress for a moment to relate the amusing anecdote connected with Liszt's joining the priesthood. He was constantly entangled in affaires d'amour, and during the year 18— he carried on a very desperate flirtation with two married ladies of high standing. Evidently Liszt was well versed in legal lore, for he felt himself safe in promising to marry both. He reckoned without a due regard for Fate (or the calculus of probabilities, as Poe called it), for the barriers to the fulfillment of his promises were swept away on one and the same day. The husband of the first lady died of an apoplectic fit, while the spouse of the second was thrown from his carriage and instantly killed. Both wives immediately informed Liszt of their unexpected freedom, and also of the fact that they intended to come to him as soon as the tiresome but necessary formality of a funeral had been gone through with. The wily pianist found himself in a sore predicament, and with a view to extricating himself therefrom he sought the advice of his friend, Cardinal X.
13"It is a very simple matter," spoke the latter; "become a priest, then you cannot marry." Liszt received a special dispensation from the Pope, and in a few days he was a full-fledged abbe.
15True to their word, the amorous dames in due time presented themselves at Liszt's home. It was the morning of the day which saw him sworn to vows of celibacy. He listened to their appeals, looked inexpressibly grieved, and said in his bland way:
17"But, mesdames, I cannot marry—I am a priest!" The tableau succeeding this announcement can be better imagined than described.
19The young man who sits at Liszt's feet, with his hand resting on the Meister's knee, is Arthur Friedheim. He resembles his teacher to an astonishing degree.
21Friedheim began to concertize soon after he left Weimar, and his signal triumphs in Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg and other European capitals soon earned him universal fame. His reputation as a Liszt player par excellence stands second to none. About four years ago he came to the United States and repeated his European successes here. He was everywhere recognized as a remarkable player, his tremendous technical dexterity, his fiery temperament and his musical knowledge uniting in forming a combination the like of which had not been heard since Rubinstein's triumphal tour in this country. Friedheim possesses a most magnetic and winning personality. His manner belies the austerity of his features.
23The lady standing directly behind Friedheim is his mother. I have heard him remark that had it not been for her presence in Weimar he would have become a better billiardist than pianist.
25At Liszt's other knee sits Emil Sauer, the young pianist who but lately scored a tremendous success in London. He invests his interpretations with a degree of musical passion and enthusiastic abandon that is inspiring. Audiences do not applaud him because they wish to, but because they are compelled to; but his performances lack the fineness and the translucent clearness of Paderewski's playing. He does not breathe into them that morbidly delicate, poetical charm with which the great Pole causes the finest strings of our emotional nature to vibrate. Sauer lacks all this, and yet audiences sit spellbound when he plays. His irresistible verve and his daring brilliancy carry the day.
27In manner Emil Sauer is very unaffected, even boyish. His fund of wit and humor seems inexhaustible. After a concert in Berlin he went to his hotel, accompanied by several young artists. Some two hours later the manager of the hostelry sent a waiter to inquire into the cause of the disturbance in Sauer's room. The astonished messenger found the great artist turning somersaults on the floor, while his friends were engaged in kindred athletic sports.
29The man seated at the right end of the group is an organist named Gottschalk. Next to him sits Alfred Reisenauer. He is not so well known as Sauer and Friedheim, but he is certainly as great. He excels in dainty, sparkling runs, in whispering pianissimos and in a beautiful tone. His playing is inconsistent, i.e., he does not always play well. His playing seems to depend on his mood. This irregularity, or rather uncertainty, is probably the result of nervousness, for his worst performances are those of the least difficult pieces.
31He is of enormous bulk, and is the living refutation of the popular idea that in order to play Chopin well a pianist must possess an attenuated body, a wan, ghastly pallor of complexion, and thick, dank hair.
33The youth holding a book, to Friedheim's left, is Alexander Siloti, a Russian. He is a most brilliant pianist, but he rarely appears in public. He has settled in Paris, where he is one of the best teachers.
35To Siloti's left is Saul Liebling. He was heard in this country some fifteen years ago, and created quite a sensation, being one of the first "prodigies" that visited these shores. He is a more effective salon player than concert virtuoso. He possesses all the dainty musical attributes that make salon playing so delightful; viz., a sweet tone, a velvety touch, pearling scales and passages, great musical taste and effective pedaling.
37Back of Siloti stands Moriz Rosenthal, the greatest pianist (technically) of our day. He is a Roumanian who has lived in Vienna the greater part of his life. His playing of the piano borders on the supernatural. Critics and public alike are stupefied at his marvelous digital feats. The cries of "circus performer," "musical acrobat," "breakneck gymnast," &c., hurled at Rosenthal by Lessman and other Berlin know-nothing critics were quickly silenced when the pianist played the last sonatas of Beethoven and Schumann's larger works. These interpretations stamped him as a thorough, earnest and conscientious musician. His technic is well nigh incomprehensible, and were it not that the piano is placed on a raised stage in full view of the audience one would be tempted to believe that trickery of some sort was being practiced.
39He played here some six years ago, achieving remarkable success wherever he appeared. Rosenthal had not the good fortune to become a "fad," however; consequently he is known to but few Americans except musicians and music lovers.
41Rosenthal is an extremely brilliant man aside from his playing. He received a degree of doctor of philosophy at the Vienna University. He wields a facile pen, and in more than one wordy argument with his critics their colors have been bedraggled with a sally of wit and repartee that seemed to bubble forth as spontaneously as the dull and vapid utterances of his antagonists.
43An instance of this wit can be cited from a letter which he wrote to Stavenhagen. The latter informed him of the birth of a son, and added facetiously, "It is a curious fact that the baby cannot play the piano, although he is now nearly two weeks old."
45To this Rosenthal replied, "There is nothing curious about the baby's being unable to play the piano, as the father cannot play either."
47The bespectacled man holding a book under his arm is Liszt's secretary. The ladies are not pupils.
49Americans will hear Sauer and Reisenauer in the near future. Rosenthal contemplates a tour of the United States in 1896.
51Liszt lying in state resembles Liszt in life—calm, noble, great. The inspired teacher of the world's inspired players died July 31, 1886.
53In closing this sketch I cannot but help writing on the question of Liszt's successor. Who is he? D'Albert, Rosenthal, Joseffy or Paderewski? It is not for me nor perhaps for my generation to decide. It is held by some that none of the pianists enumerated can lay claim to such general musical greatness as Liszt's. He was innovator, composer, virtuoso, conductor and litterateur. I put the question aside as one impossible to answer.
55And yet, when the memory of Saturday afternoon, November 16, 1895, and Monday night, November 4, 1895, comes back to me; when through the mist of dim uncertainty in which I find myself the weird, soul stirring strains of a Polish Fantaisie become distinct, lulling my senses with their undulating harmonies and sensuous rhythms; when I recall the wildly enthusiastic men, the emotionally unstrung, throbbing women, the Swinburnian presence on the stage in Carnegie Hall, the four encores, the shouts, the laughter, the tears—then I feel that I am near a solution of the question of Liszt's successor.
57Well Deserved Hisses.—Mlle. Duclerc, a music hall singer of extremely risky songs, created a public scandal lately. She was invited to take part in the matinée given at the Châtelet Theatre by the Association of Dramatic Artists, and was set down to sing two songs. The association little knew what was in store for them. When the singer appeared the songs proved to be of so grossly indecent a character that the audience, which was largely composed of ladies with their families, including young girls and children, waxed indignant, and finally hissed and hooted Mlle. Duclerc off the stage. The demonstration, the Soir says, was approved by all present. The matinée, with the exception of this little incident, was a most successful one.—Paris Herald.
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