Liszt Research – Whither?
For the last twenty years, since I forsook the world of commerce, my life has centred on Liszt. One might ask, why? Since being bowled over by the “Fantasy on Hungarian Folk-Tunes” when aged ten, I passed through the stage of combating a Head Teacher who detested the composer – whom he regarded exclusively as a superficially brilliant charlatan of the piano – to enjoying the music whilst earning an honest buck spending other people’s money and then finally deciding to devote myself whole-heartedly to Liszt research.
It was in 1991 that Leslie Howard twisted my little finger, by asking whether I would be interested in working with him on a new Liszt Catalogue. A split-five-minute decision altered my life. It plunged me into a maelstrom of discussion and argument, into a host of published material to read and to inwardly digest, and then a further vast amount of unpublished material to trace, identify, classify and interpret. I doubt that it will ever be possible for a single individual to cope with all the published material, let alone the rest. So the question must be asked – what next?
Problems with Liszt research have been the subject for commentators over many years. Initially, and perhaps most notably, the essential problems were addressed by Belá Bartók and then Emile Haraszti in the 1930s. Subsequently, the burgeoning industry of Liszt research has resulted in major studies – on the problems – by Dezsó Legány, Serge Gut, Michael Saffle and others, as well as book-length reports on relevant symposia.
It might be thought that this would cover the field sufficiently. Far from it. The Russian Doll Syndrome now comes into play. For every new discovery or line of thought, there appear, topsy-turvy-like, at least two more. Where will it all end? Well, of course, it will not end. “Vollendet ist das ewige Werk” is a phrase unknown to Liszt researchers. And boy is it “ewig”!
Looking at the latest listing of works known to have been composed by the man, sixty pieces are “missing.” These cover the entire span of his compositional life. Then there are a similar number of works which he may have written, but which cannot be proven. So, concentration on finding the former and proving or disproving the latter would seem to be a priority. Alas, life does not work that way. How does a librarian unfamiliar with Liszt’s musical handwriting identify an untitled, undated and unsigned manuscript? The answer is that he or she doesn’t. It will thus remain a matter of chance as to whether such finds ever surface. And how many libraries are there? Every competent Lisztian, in whatever part of the world, should be frog-marched to the local library to browbeat the librarians into opening up those dark recesses in which lurk manuscripts that have been gathering dust for decades, just in case some nugget of gold should happen to be there. It is amazing that weird and wonderful Liszt manuscripts can be found in such diverse locations as the Universities of Melbourne, Guelph, Glasgow, Texas Tech and even at Radiotelevisione Italiana, but how many local libraries are there, especially in Europe? Between France, Germany and Italy alone there must be hundreds. These all demand more than a cursory inspection and, possibly, subsequent inspection by experts.
There is, however, another stumbling block to Liszt research. On a regular basis, Liszt manuscripts appear at auction. Occasionally, it is possible to track down purchasers, especially if these are major institutions, for the music will turn up in their catalogues at some stage, to be pounced upon by the diligent researcher. Unfortunately, some works fall into the hands of collectors whose approach is rather like that staple of fiction, the rich collector of art, who keeps his purchases safely locked up in a basement vault at home, to be admired by candlelight in the dead of night by the solitary owner. At least one Liszt manuscript seems to have suffered this fate. How very selfish – and how disheartening that there are people who wish to withhold miracles of creation from appreciative eyes and ears.
So much for the works themselves. What about the life of the composer? Recent research, especially by Dezsó Legány, has managed, incredibly, to establish where Liszt was and what he was doing on virtually every day of his adult life. It does not seem worthwhile, any more, to investigate his life after 1869, at least not with regard to his daily activity. However, there are lacunae for periods of his life. These require competent research. Let us look at these in some sort of chronological order – and perhaps this may encourage students of Liszt to set the ball rolling again. (It is possible that some of these gaps have already been filled, but the present writer is not omniscient where Liszt research is concerned.)
Thus, we know that at the end of 1826 and the beginning of 1827, Liszt toured in Switzerland. We are told that he performed in Geneva, Lausanne, Berne and Lucerne, but what did he play, and when precisely? The period of the so-called “crisis of conscience” from 1828-30 is gradually emerging from the mists, but more work needs to be done here. The years of travel are well-documented, but at the end of this period, from the end of March to the beginning of June 1847, there are several “blanks” and as far as I am aware, the Odessa concerts of August/September that year have not been fully documented, nor is there much on his stay at Woronice from October 1847 to January 1848, it seemingly being spent in composing and little else. Once he arrived in Weimar at the end of January 1848 until his departure in August 1861, the sup of information runneth over. But after his fiftieth birthday and the marriage that never took place, we have but scanty information for most of the decade until his return to Weimar in January 1869, though some articles are available. Thereafter, we are home and dry, it would seem, but are we really? Not while about half his correspondence remains unpublished...
Michael Short