Scan 9
Musical Courier 1902-01-29: Vol 44 Iss 1140, 1902
38 lines. Read by computer on 21 September 2026. Printed page 10. See the scan on archive.org.
1Berlin Branch Budget.
3German Headquarters of The Musical Courier,
4Berlin, W., Linkstrasse 17
5January 14, 1902.
7NEW stories of Liszt are always timely and instructive. That is my excuse for translating an article in yesterday's Tageblatt, from the chatty pen of Fritz Fridberg:
9"Anecdotes of Liszt."
11Never again in my life have I met with a personality that aroused in me such varied impressions as did Franz Liszt. At times I viewed him as a god; at others I felt repelled. At one moment he seemed to me divine; in the next absurd. In his company I felt myself like a shuttlecock, tossed about in the air without volition or direction of my own. With him everything seemed to be the result of mood, of caprice. To this I ascribe the often astounding inconsistency of his opinions on art, artists and humanity in general. To-day he liked what he hated to-morrow. On one occasion, in Weimar, he told me things about Beethoven's great C sharp minor Quartet that acted upon me like a revelation; a few hours later he called all chamber music "cat music." Often he showered favors on individuals of no consequence, while with his indifference he drove to despair many men of real talent and earnest ambition. One could never be sure of Liszt's behavior. He never did what was expected of him; he did as he pleased.
13He was a great actor. One morning I was visiting him in Budapest, when a young man, elegantly dressed, came in, handed Liszt an introductory letter and asked him in a long and bombastic French speech to be allowed to play some original compositions. I felt myself growing pale. The master, however, was in excellent humor, and appeared to enjoy vastly the lame French of the young German. Liszt allowed him to finish, and said: "In addition to playing the piano I speak a fair German, too." Then, to my utmost astonishment, with a courteous bow and a slightly sarcastic smile—a smile that I knew—he led the young man to the piano. The composition was awful, and I surely expected the master to interrupt the player and throw him out of the door. But Liszt sat quietly, his eyes upturned, nodding his head in time, and at every particularly bad melody or crude harmony calling out raptuously, "Unsurpassable, absolutely unsurpassable." Beaming with joy, the young man hurried from the room, presumably to a publisher.
15"Master, how could you?" I cried. "I meant what I said," answered Liszt; "for rank idiocy, the piece and its composer are unsurpassable."
17A celebrated Hungarian virtuoso was giving a concert in Budapest. Liszt and I sat in the front row of the parquet. Liszt probably felt that the occasion called for some display of patriotism. After the first pause in the program he shouted "Bravo!" vociferously, applauded like a clap of thunder and cast delighted looks at those about him. Then, still clapping frenetically, he leaned over and whispered in my ear: "What primitive art, and what a primitive public."
19One scene I shall never forget. It was at a banquet given in Liszt's honor. Compliments and flatteries were heaped upon him, and in the attempt to outdo one another the speakers grew more and more stupid. The speech of a high Hungarian official began with the following simile: "The master is a camel, for he carries us through the desert of ignorance to the oasis of true art." Finally another speaker called Liszt a robber, a murderer, because with his playing "he robs us of rest and tears our hearts." I observed Liszt's frown grow ever deeper and his looks darker. At last he was asked to speak. He protested, but forced on his feet he straightened himself, gazed fixedly into space and with a voice of sepulchral timbre said: "This is not Kecskemet." (A hamlet in Hungary.) Pause. "We—are—not—in—Kecskemet." Long pause. "No, indeed, we are not in Kecskemet." Then he sat down. The guests looked at one another, and to this day have probably not found out why "we are not in Kecskemet."
21I remember a young Frenchman who brought a composition to Liszt for criticism. A week later the composer called to hear judgment pronounced. I happened to come in with the Frenchman. The master was reclining in an easy chair, a bottle of claret at his elbow. He appeared to have been asleep. He looked at us with tired eyes, but immediately his features assumed their customary genial expression. He welcomed us warmly and bade us take seats. The Frenchman, in a fever of excitement, waited for the master's opinion. Imagine the following, accompanied by unarticulated, snoring sounds, head shaking and fantastic gestures: "Mon cher . . . enfin . . . vous avez . . . oui . . . vous avez . . . une composition—oui . . . sinfonie . . . sinfonie héroïque . . . hé-roïque . . . oui." Immediately I knew that either the master had not looked at the symphony or that he had found it bad. "Vous avez . . . une sinfonie héroïque . . . on peut dire . . . enfin . . . ah . . . oui . . . les clarinettes et puis . . . et puis . . . les contrebasses . . . oui, les contrebasses . . . il con-tra-bas-so . . . à la bonheur . . . sinfonie héroïque . . . oui." Then he arose and bowed us out with the same charming courtesy that had marked our entrance. We walked for awhile in silence. Suddenly, arrived at the Goethe Platz, the Frenchman, with a furious motion, threw his manuscript on the ground, jumped on it and shouted at the top of his voice: "Quel une fiche la paix! Est-ce qu'il me prend pour un imbécile! Est-ce qu'il a voulu se moquer de moi! Avez vous compris un seul mot? Est-ce que vous avez l'idée, si ma pièce est bonne ou non? Mort de ma vie."
23The master had a keen sense of humor. On one occasion there was a concert in a neighboring city, and Liszt was asked to come from Weimar. He, in turn, invited a large and distinguished company to go with him. Of course he bought the tickets—fourth class! It is easy to imagine the faces of the receiving committee, attired in gala dress, when Liszt and his guests stepped from the train. But I have seen Liszt at other moments and in other moods. None could be more stern, more unbending, more proud, when a question of his artistic dignity was involved. At the soirée of a rich banker a provincial countess approached Liszt and said, naively: "Master, I have never had the good fortune to hear you. Will you play?" In a cutting tone the pianist replied: "I have had the bad fortune to meet you. No, I will not play."
25Even toward his high patron and friend the Grand Duke of Weimar, Liszt never failed to speak his true mind. At a musical afternoon the Grand Duke said to a young pupil of Liszt: "I am surprised that you know nothing except your music." To this rude remark Liszt, who was standing near, instantly commented: "You don't know even that, Serene Highness."
27Concerts.
29Under the conscientious leadership of Prof. Friedrich Gernsheim the Stern Singing Society (not in any way connected with Stern's Conservatory) gave an extremely creditable performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. I use advisedly the word "conscientious," for I could not truthfully speak of Professor Gernsheim's conducting as "brilliant," or "distinguished," or "effective." He is calm, careful and correct. He does not, like our younger leaders, try to make of the Ninth Symphony a medium for the parading of virtuoso tricks, of startling tempi, of tonal and dynamic nuances, or reverberating climaxes. He does not seek the eloquent phrase or the vital moment. He never loses himself. He enters more into Beethoven than Beethoven enters into him.
31Far be it from me to decry a conscientious performance of any musical work, but I belong to those who prefer to hear, besides the work itself, something of the man who directs it. To read notes correctly, to produce a harmonious ensemble and to play strictly in time is not considered a remarkable feat in these days of remarkable orchestral leaders. Like Gernsheim, like orchestra and chorus. Everything lacked just that touch of personality which would have infused real life into the performance. The material was there, the man was lacking.
33The one person that stood out prominently from this atmosphere of artificiality was Arthur Van Eweyk, the American baritone, who sang as though his heart were in his throat, and for whom the leader's stick and left hand seemed to have no terrors. It was glorious vocalism, and it was glorious art, true, refined and convincing. Van Eweyk had a decided personal success with the audience.
35Sophie Schröter gave the first of four song recitals. My tickets for the other three can be procured, gratis, by early application at this office.
37The enterprising Theater des Westens seems to spare neither work nor money in its efforts to interest and please the public. Its repertory, already large, is enriched frequently, not only with new operas of importance but with
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