many musicians who came to Weimar to visit Liszt at that time – die goldene Zeit (the
Golden Age), as it is still called at Weimar – I think Klindworth and I are the only
survivors. Klindworth is one of the most distinguished teachers in Europe, and taught for
many years at the Conservatory in Moscow. He is now in Berlin.
The best picture of Liszt’s appearance at that time is conveyed by the picture which
shows him approaching the Altenburg. His back is turned; nevertheless, there is a certain
something which shows the man as he was, better than those portraits in which his
features are clearly reproduced. The picture gives his gait, his figure, and his general
appearance. There is his tall lank form, his high hat set a little to one side, and his arm a
trifle akimbo. He had piercing eyes. His hair was very dark, but not black. He wore it
long, just as he did in his older days. It came down almost to his shoulders, and was cut
off square at the bottom. He had it cut frequently, so as to keep it about the same length.
That was a point about which he was very particular.
As I remember his hands, his fingers were lean and thin, but they did not impress me as
being very long, and he did not have such a remarkable stretch on the keyboard as one
might imagine. He was always neatly dressed, generally appearing in a long frock-coat,
until he became the Abbé Liszt after which he wore the distinctive black gown. His
general manner and his face were most expressive of feelings, and his features lighted up
when he spoke. His smile was simply charming. His face was peculiar. One could
hardly call it handsome, yet there was in it a subtle something that was most attractive,
and his whole manner had a fascination which it is impossible to describe.
In his concertizing days Liszt always played without the music before him, although this
was not the usual custom of his time.
Later on he very rarely played even his own compositions without having the music
before him, and during most of the time I was there copies of his later publications were
always lying on the piano, and among them a copy of the ‘Bénédiction de Dieu dans la
Solitude’ which Liszt had used so many times when playing to his guests that it became
associated with memories of Berlioz, Rubinstein, Vieuxtemps, Wieniawski, Joachim, and
our immediate circle, Raff, Bülow, Cornelius, Klindworth, Pruckner, and others. When I
left Weimar I took this copy with me as a souvenir and still have it; and I treasure it all
the more for the marks of usage which it bears.
As an illustration of some of the advantages of a residence at Weimar almost en famille
with Liszt during ‘die goldene Zeit’, a few extracts from my diary are presented, showing
how closely events followed one upon another:
‘Sunday, April 24, 1853. At the Altenburg this forenoon at eleven o’clock, Liszt played
with Laub and Cossman two trios by César Franck.’
This is peculiarly interesting in view of the fact that the composer, who died about ten
years ago, is just beginning to receive due appreciation. In Paris at the present time there
is almost a César Franck cult, but it is quite natural that Liszt, with his quick and far-