Imagine that no one is foolish
enough to spend a thirty francs' subscription on the Revue
Musicale), have informed me that you had decidedly raised altar
for altar, and made your charming salon echo with magnificent
harmonies. I confess that this is perhaps the one regret of my
winter. I should so immensely have liked to be there to admire
you, to applaud you. Several people who had the honor of being
present at these choice evenings have spoken to me about them
with enthusiasm.
What a contrast to the tiresome musical soliloquies (I do not
know what other name to give to this invention of mine) with
which I contrived to gratify the Romans, and which I am quite
capable of importing to Paris, so unbounded does my impudence
become! Imagine that, wearied with warfare, not being able to
compose a programme which would have common sense, I have
ventured to give a series of concerts all by myself, affecting
the Louis XIV. style, and saying cavalierly to the public, "The
concert is - myself." For the curiosity of the thing I copy one of
the programmes of the soliloquies for you: -
1. Overture to William Tell, performed by M. L.
2. Reminiscences of the Puritani. Fantaisie composed and
performed by the above-mentioned!
3. Etudes and fragments by the same to the same!
4. Improvisation on themes given - still by the same. And that was
all; neither more nor less, except lively conversation during the
intervals, and enthusiasm if there was room for it.
A propos of enthusiasm, I ought at least to talk to you of St.
Peter's. That is the proper thing to do when one writes from
Rome. But, in the first place, I am writing to you from Albano,
whence I can only discern the dome, and, secondly, this poor St.
Peter's has been so disguised, so embellished by papier-mache
wreaths, horrid curtains at alcoves, etc., etc., all in honor of
the five or six last saints whom His Holiness has canonised, that
I try to put away the recollection of it. Happily there have not
been any workers of miracles to glorify at the Coliseum and the
Campo Vaccino, otherwise it would have been impossible to live in
Rome.
If nothing occurs to prevent it, I expect to pass the end of next
winter (March and April) in Paris. Will you permit me then to
fill up all the gaps in my correspondence from the Rue d'Anjou?
[Here the Princess lived.] I count always upon your friendly and
indulgent kindness. But shall you extend this so far as to give
me a sign of life before the close of my stay in Italy? I do not
know. In any case, letters addressed poste restante, Florence,
will reach me till the 1st of next September.
I beg you, Madame la Princesse, to accept the expression of my
profound and most devoted respect.
F. Liszt
Albano, June 4th, 1839
Will you be good enough to remember me affectionately to (Madame)
your sister and to Mr. d'Aragon?
19. To Robert Schumann
[From a copy from the Royal Library in Berlin.]
Albano, June 5th, 1839
My dear Monsieur Schumann,
At the risk of appearing very monotonous, I must again tell you
that the last pieces you were so kind as to send me to Rome
appear to me admirable both in inspiration and composition. The
"Fantaisie" dedicated to me is a work of the highest kind - and I
am really proud of the honor you have done me in dedicating to me
so grand a composition.
Op. 17, C dur. With the motto: -
"Durch alle Tone tonet
Im bunten Erdentraum
Ein leiser Ton gezogen
Fur den, der heimlich lauschet."
("Through all the sounds of nature,
In earth's fair dream of joy,
An under-current soundeth
For him whose ears can hear."]
I mean, therefore, to work at it and penetrate it through and
through, so as to make the utmost possible effect with it.
As to the "Kinderscenen," I owe to them one of the greatest
pleasures of my life. You know, or you don't know, that I have a
little girl of three years old, whom everybody agrees in
considering angelic (did you ever hear such a commonplace?). Her
name is Blandine-Rachel, and her surname Moucheron. [Pet name;
literally, "little fly."] It goes without saying that she has a
complexion of roses and milk, and that her fair golden hair
reaches to her feet just like a savage. She is, however, the most
silent child, the most sweetly grave, the most philosophically
gay in the world. I have every reason to hope also that she will
not be a musician, from which may Heaven preserve her!
Well, my dear Monsieur Schumann, two or three times a week (on
fine and good days!) I play your "Kinderscenen" to her in the
evening; this enchants her, and me still more, as you may
imagine, so that often I go over the first repeat twenty times
without going any further. Really I think you would be satisfied
with this success if you could be a witness of it!
I think I have already expressed to you, in one of my former
letters, the desire I felt to see you write some ensemble pieces,
Trios, Quintets, or Septets. Will you pardon me for pressing this
point again? It seems to me that you would be more capable of
doing it than any one else nowadays. And I am convinced that
success, even commercial success, would not be wanting.
If between now and next winter you could complete some ensemble
work, it would be a real pleasure to me to make it known in
Paris, where that sort of composition, when well played, has more
chance of success than you perhaps think.
