This book, projected in 1902, was at that time announced as a biography of Liszt. However, a few tentative attacks upon the vast amount of raw material soon convinced me that to write the ideal life of the Hungarian a man must be plentifully endowed with time and patience. I preferred, therefore, to study certain aspects of Liszt's art and character; and as I never heard him play I have summoned here many competent witnesses to my aid. Hence the numerous contradictions and repetitions, arguments for and against Liszt in the foregoing volume, frankly sought for, rather than avoided. The personality, or, strictly speaking, the various personalities of Liszt are so mystifying that they would require the professional services of a half-dozen psychologists to untangle their complex web. As to his art, I have quoted from many conflicting authorities, hoping that the reader will evolve from the perhaps confusing pattern an authentic image of the man and his music. And all the biographies I have seen—Lina Ramann's, despite its violent parti pris, is the most complete (an urquell for its successors)—read like glorified time-tables. Now, no man is a hero to his biographer, but the practice of jotting down unimportant happenings makes your hero very small potatoes indeed. An appalling number of pages are devoted to the arrival and departure of the master at or from Weimar, Rome, or Budapest. "Liszt left Rome for Budapest at 8.30 A. M., accompanied by his favourite pupil Herr Fingers," etc.; or, "Liszt returned to Weimar at 9 P. M., and was met at the station by the Baroness W. and Professor Handgelenk." A more condensed method is better, though it may lack interest for the passionate Liszt admirers. As for the chronicling of small-beer, I hope I have provided sufficient anecdotes to satisfy the most inveterate of scandal-mongers. I may add that for over a quarter of a century I have been collecting Lisztiana; not to mention the almost innumerable conversations and interviews I have enjoyed with friends and pupils of Liszt.

I wish to acknowledge the help and sympathy of: Camille Saint-SaËns, Frederick Niecks, Rafael Joseffy, the late Anton Seidl, Felix Weingartner, Arthur Friedheim, Richard Burmeister, Henry T. Finck, Philip Hale, W. F. Apthorp, the late Edward Dannreuther, Frank Van der Stucken, August Spanuth, Emil Sauer, Moritz Rosenthal, Eugen d'Albert, Amy Fay, Rosa Newmarch, Jaroslaw de Zielinski, the late Edward A. MacDowell, John Kautz, of Albany (who first suggested to me the magnitude of Liszt's contribution to the art of rhythms), Charles A. Ellis, of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and Edward E. Ziegler. I am also particularly indebted to the following publications for their courtesy in the matter of reproduction of various articles: Scribner's Magazine, New York Sun, Evening Post, Herald, Times, The Etude, Everybody's Magazine, and The Musical Courier.

An exhaustive list of the compositions has yet to be made, though GÖllerich in his Franz Liszt consumes fifty-five pages in enumerating the works—compiled from Lina Ramann, Breitkopf and HÄrtel, and Busoni—some of which never saw the light of publication; such as the opera Don Sancho, the Revolutionary Symphony, etcetera; when Breitkopf and HÄrtel finish their cataloguing no doubt the result will be more satisfactory. The fact is that out of the known 1,300 compositions, only 400 are original and of these latter how many are worth remembering? Liszt wrote too much and too often for money. His best efforts will survive, of course; but I do not see the use of making a record of ephemeral pot-boilers. It is the same with the bibliography. I give the sources whenever I can of my information; impossible, however, is it to credit the authorship of all the flotsam and jetsam. Kapp in his ponderous biography actually devotes twenty-seven pages to the books, magazines, and newspapers which have dealt with the theme, though even his Teutonic industry has not rendered flawless his drag-net.

Liszt was the most caricatured man in Europe save Wagner and Louis Napoleon, and he was painted, sculptured, and photographed oftener than any operatic or circus celebrity who ever sang or swung in the break-neck trapeze. Naturally the choice of illustrations for this study was narrowed down to a few types, with here and there a novelty (dug up from some ancient album); yet sufficient to reveal Liszt as boy, youth, man; fascinating, dazzling, enigmatic artist, comedian, abbÉ, rhapsodist, but ever the great-souled Franz Liszt.

J. H.